Their Last Clash
by MyBlackPen
Summary: It was all but a plan to exterminate us. Final chapters are coming up... COMPLETE
1. Introduction

****Spoiler:**** for the three seasons.

******Pairing: ******Peter/Olivia. Astrid/OMC for the last chapters.

********Rating: ********T

********Warnings: ********Violence, and possible torture scenes for some characters, but only regular TV. Some Language.

**********Disclaimer:********** I don't own Fringe, nor it's characters.

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><p><strong>CHAPITRE I<strong>

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><p><em>"You are my home. Wherever you are, that's where I'm meant to be." <em>_— S.L Naeole._

**Unknown Place:**

_Something felt wrong._ Peter was pulled back to his senses with a startle, his heart weighted against his chest. A deathly quietness submerged what little perimeter was engulfing him. Incoherent Thoughts resumed echoing furiously through his brain in an eerie chaos. He quickly blinked, twice, as if it would help him decipher things about the here and now.

_Olivia? Walter? ... The machine? The bridge? ..._

He shut his eyes tight in an attempt to block out the dizziness threatening to overwhelm him. It wasn't easy task, so it took a moment to find out he was alone, and not in liberty Island anymore. Letting his eyes wonder some more he figured it was a windowless, dim lighted room, with a small white wooden door. A locked room? _A cell?_ … His stomach lurched at the realization. _Pissed the hell off someone lately Peter Bishop?_

His Head gingerly lifted off the cold floor. Numb muscles shook slightly as he tried to stand. He wondered if it was enough prove that this wasn't a bad dream. That, _indeed, _this was a bad reality.

Once upright, the room swung alarmingly and he had to brace himself against the gray painted wall for support. _How much trouble was he exactly in this time? _Among all the billion questions shooting at his mind right now, he was pretty sure this was one he had no intention of hearing an answer to. But, hey, bad answers seem pretty banal sometimes.

A deep extraneous sensation emanated through his veins. He stopped, right in front of the door. The room was weird, had a choky ambience to it. And calm. Nervously calm. He assumed it was either in an abandoned area or deep underground. Sighing, he decided the former would be less uncomfortable to focus on. Not that he had any choice in the mat**t**er…

His hand drove itself instinctively to the lock on the door. And, to his own surprise, it was open. _Pandora's Box? Don't open, don't open_… Shoving that thought aside, he pushed the door open revealing the big sight.

It was a Bathroom.

Okay, a bathroom is good. Actually, if they'd decided to keep him here a while longer, a bathroom would have to be perfect. Only, after checking twice, he was damn certain he couldn't find any other possible exit. Door-less prison? _What the hell? _

"HEY!" he shouted. Feeling a mild surge of anger, he continued, "Not that I don't appreciate the hospitality," _no mattress, a fine bathroom, and a high tough ceiling with enough tiny apertures not to suffocate nor escape, Clever!_ "But, I'm really having some serious touristic guiding issues here!"

He waited… No answer_. Great._ Aside from being cut out when delivering the most important speech in his life, the one that could bring two sides into working together on a linking bridge for a common goal, only to wake up here, which was bad enough. The stillness of this place was really beginning to click on his temper.

"Would somebody be kind enough to tell me what's going on here?" he gave it a good ten seconds count, then raved "DAMN IT!' slamming his foot hard against wall and instantly regretting it as it stung like crazy. Serenity kept ringing his ears…

After some futile attempts of … checking walls, he gave up, propping himself against one of them, exhausted. Whoever had taken him, kept him alive; they wanted him for a reason. He figured that much should give him enough patience, so he decided waiting was the only viable option. He even convinced himself it may not be that awful after all. For he'd spend the next moments thinking about some sweet memories; his own heart as it warms blissfully whenever Olivia would part her lips drawing a breathtakingly natural charm on her feature. Walter remembering his birthday. And yeah, the very moment he'd came back from the future, Olivia had been smiling back at him, alive. He'd stepped out of the machine, understanding its function at last. His heart had hammered in uncontained delight, because Olivia was Alive … He'd had yet time to decide differently. To protect her… To …

_Did it work? What happened next? What if…? _

No, they were alright. Everything was fine, at least for everyone else back on the island. He blocked all the scary assumptions away. Wait, how desperately was he now trying to force events the way he wished they had happened, when they had _already_ happened? Hopeful as he might be feeling, the thought terrified him. He took a deep, uneven breath. Pulling his knees up in a huddle, his fingers quivered momentarily. Funny how happy memories proved to be a bad idea after all.

**Liberty Island. The bridged-room: **

"Whatever you've both done," The voice immerged through nervous space, filling distance between two irritated men, wherein, fiery ferociousness had ignited. A detonated blast in large bomb storage. Eyes burned at each other beyond odd coolness and legible loath. "We're here now, so maybe it's time we start to fix it." Agent Dunham held her expression firm. Her unusually pale, red headed doppelganger kept staring. Piercing eyes through oblivious wonder.

Silence right then swallowed movements and voices alike. Short-lived glances were exchanged like meteors. The foursome stood wordlessly dubious, confused. Each froze aback at the very late realization; how did they all end up here, together? Well, 'two strangers in the same room' is a bit uneasy. 'Two enemies in the same room' … Is bad.

Broyles could see the tension building up for a second round of yells and blaming comments. And, had his own fingers not closed the fixated eyes of his dead alternate self months ago, he hasn't much doubted he'd be now standing in front of a person sharing his shape in dreadfully similar features. He'd be thusly wearing the same shocked mask the four persons in front of him are now sharing. Not that his own blinding jolt of disbelief was any lesser. Nevertheless, this was his turn to step in. He was to be the objective voice. No matter how anger he'd sense facing Walternate and Fauxlivia, cognation he'd involuntarily feel for Agent Dunham and Dr Walter Bishop. This was substantial. The fate of two universes held much due consideration in h**i**s book.

Stepping forward, through the hard-pressed air between Dr Bishop and Walternate, he called "Dr Bishop, Mr Secretary. I can imagine how hard this must be on both of you," Barely getting an attention from Walternate, and an inaudible chuckle from Dr Bishop, he went on "And I understand that each of you is, by his own means, trying to protect his world—"

"Or cease it, stupidly." Fauxlivia vacantly interrupted, shooting Walternate an accusing, almost amused glare. Walter seemed disgusted by her presence, he couldn't stand the woman who'd hurt Olivia, either that, or he thought she'd meant him by 'stupidly'. Olivia's face gave nothing away. Calm; she was waiting for Broyles to continue.

He drove his attention back. Clearing his throat, He added "However, this is no more about two individuals; this is about the destiny of thousands of billions of people, people who have ultimately no idea about whatever is going on around them. Do you really think they'd care who's at fault?"

"Of course not," Dunham snapped, because she, too, had noticed that Dr Bishop was cracking his mouth in a protest mood. Broyles thanked her innerly, "As agent Dunham pointed out earlier, we're here now. That's what matters most."

Dr Bishop's reaction was the first to catch his attention. The man had immediately let his eyes focus on a single spot on the ground in utter guilt. Fauxlivia nodded, and crossed her arms. Apparently, she was expecting a dangerously quiet Walternate to say something. He didn't.

Dunham seemed suddenly confused, as if she had just recalled something. "Our—Our two universes are inextricable," Broyles could see her struggling to remember; "If one side dies, we're all gonna die. So … So someone had created this," she moved her arms, in a gesture to the whole room. "Hm ...Room—Or Bridge, in order to fix this problem. We're here for a reason. We must save both universes!" She concluded, in a serious, assuring tone.

The words struck him in the vein of a sonic wave. They sounded too fixed, too familiar. As if he'd heard them from someone else before. And, judging by the look on their faces, he could tell that the others were as sank in their thoughts as he was right now, likely, for the same reason. Walternate was the first one to step out of the momentarily disconcertion. "Who told you this, this reasoning? Inextricable, how can we be sure?"

Dunham seemed disorientated. She even took a scarcely noticed step back. And Broyles couldn't blame her. The very man who'd brainwashed her into believing she was another person was now addressing her.

"Well… I…" She gathered herself. Slowly. Perhaps she and Broyles, simultaneously, were trying to make the same connection. _The bridge… who told them about it?_

_Inextricable._

"I can't tell you. Honestly, I can't remember. But I know this for a FACT. It also sounds reasonable. Look, we should save as many lives as we can, starting from now!" She told him finally.

"This is nonsense," A voice barked from the back, and Broyles recognized it as Alternate Brandon's. This was totally the bad time for him to show up.

"Sir, you're definitely not believing this, Are you? With all respect, sir, we should leave now. The soft spots were getting worse because they'd done something, which we must figure out quickly. They're just trying to lull us into believing we're the bad guys here!"

"So you're not thinking it is possible the two universes are linked, and none of them should be destroyed?" Walternate asked, he was now interested of what his confident scientist had to say. Of course.

"Definitely not, sir, this is a pathetic attempt to gain our trust just to betray us afterwards. Those—"

"You and I have a completely different definition of 'nonsense' Mr whatever!" Walter hastily voiced Broyles thoughts, in a bit _unrestrained_ way.

Fauxlivia merely shrugged. Apparently the conversation was beginning to sound boring for her. Quite the opposite, Dunham's face was displaying countless emotions. Broyles could only read the last two before she spoke, disbelief and wrath. "Are you seriously considering aborting this opportunity? We have to work for everyone's sake. People from both sides are DYING unless we do so**m**ething! "

That must have got Fauxlivia's attention, because she resumed studying her double, from head to toe.

"You are putting your own people at stake here. This is serious; both sides are equally heading to an inevitable end."

It is the likes of those moments that makes Broyles proud of his young blond agent.

Walternate wasn't taking any of it though. He offered the other Brandon a reassuring look. Not good.

"War casualties. Besides, your theory is uncertain. And if people have to die for the survival of our universe, then so be it. Victory is ours." The words were cold, delivered in a deliberately fast pace. He was ending the discussion.

"Yes, yes! Why am I not surprised? Because HE wouldn't have a problem destructing a whole universe, as long as HIS stays untouched." Dr Bishop sneered. His expression switched back and forth from sad to nervous. He slowly turned his attention to Walternate, irritated now. "That's what you are, a DESTROYER OF WORLDS!" And Dr Bishop wasn't helping.

Walternate was instantly shocked. Dr Bishop's words had hit home. He remained still, quiet. He did not reply. Fortunately.

Or not.

In a matter of seconds, the man's face reddened in blind fury. Brow recoiled and lips curled viciously in barely contained rage. "Strange as it might be, I've been longing to tell you those EXACT terminologies for years. Mr Bishop!" He raised an accusing finger fast at him, so fast Broyles thought he could hear the sound of air being traversed. "YOU! And only YOU had brought this on us. Maybe I should remind you that you shattered the fabric of the universe, because, carelessly, you and your greedy, self-centered, mean intentions had caused the deaths of unimaginable numbers of innocent people!" Walternate fired back. And it started all over again. This wasn't good. Dunham must have thought the same because she shut her eyes, sighing.

Walter had been preparing for another comment, but his features changed abruptly after Walternate had pronounced the words 'greedy' and 'mean'. Broyles was about to repeat that those past events don't matter anymore when Dr Bishop cut him short, "What do you mean by 'greedy' and 'mean'? You have no right to call me that!"

"Really? Could you tell me the reason you crossed universes the first time?" Walternate asked him.

Broyles couldn't recall being briefed about the real reason he did that. Although, he knew, above all, that Dr Bishop is not a 'greedy' man. A very passionate scientist perhaps, but not a greedy man.

"I… I…" Dr Bishop seemed utterly panicked. He couldn't remember. "I can't remember, I'm sure I did it for a good reason. I did it to bring back something. Incredibly precious. Something I lost," Broyles believed him. Dr Bishop looked miserably sad. So close to actually cry. "But I _can't_ remember. I—"

"Then allow me to refresh your MISSING memories Mr Bishop," He emphasized on 'missing'. Does he know that Dr Bishop had lost his …? "Brain Parts, Mr Bishop, your lost memories. I know very well that your brain isn't whole. I always wondered what would make you do such atrocity. But then I figured how small you are, eventually. You risked the fate of my world. To abduct me and steal from ME, your missing brain parts." Walternate shoved it in his face. But there was something inside Broyles that told him this wasn't true. He didn't believe it. Neither did Dunham, for she muttered something like "Impossible."

The other Brandon, seemingly satisfied, reiterated "Sir, we must leave. There are many things to be taken care of." Broyles hated him. Fauxlivia's action was next. She shot him a disgusting look before she moved towards the door. "Idiot!" She mumbled. _She also hated him? _It didn't matter anyway because Walternate and his confident scientist were leaving too. This was over.

Walternate didn't turn back when he said, "Everything about this place must remain classified." Although he stopped until Broyles brought himself to the present and uttered his agreement.

"Maybe we should give it more time." He heard Dunham say, bitterly. Yes, this was the only option right now. To Wait.

Dr Bishop was another story. Since Walternate's merciless words had slapped him. He sank into deep silence. Broyles could see he'd just reached the edge of his resistance. He could notice the man's left hand grabbing at the fingers of his right arm as they wouldn't stop trembling. The first tears as they trickled down his palpable frustrated face that drew dissimilar emotions within the last few minutes. None of them seemed tempting. He could see him shaking his head in denial. Over and over. And over. He could see…

He could see the man was broken. Dr Bishop had nothing left to say. Neither did Broyles, nor Agent Dunham. For a well considerable time, they just stood there. Silent. Motionless. Until, caringly, Dunham took Dr Bishop in a long hug. Telling him something Broyles wasn't concentrated enough to hear, though he understood she was trying to ease his burden. Tell him what he needed to know. Tell him it was all going to be fine. Rest assur**e**d.

But Dr Bishop was Broken. And this was yet another pungent reason to stand by, Waiting.

TBC...

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><p><strong>Autor's note:<strong>

*** I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I'll be updating regularly, and as soon as I can. Please feel free to express whatever you want about my story. Writers are addicted to reviews. And, of course, feedbacks are very very well appreciated.**

*** The bold letters are like glyphs in a fringe episode. Just to add some fun.**


	2. Missing

**YoJee, **OMG, I was just about to post this chapter when I saw your review and it made my day! thank you so much for reviewing my story and I'm very glad you liked it.

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><p><strong>I don't own Fringe, nor its characters.<strong>

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><p><strong><em>CHAPITRE II<em>**

_"The heart has reasons that reason does not understand." Jacques Benigne Bossuel  
><em>

**Blue Universe. The Lab: Twenty four hours later.**

Olivia hurled the lab door, and rushed inside, hastily. Astrid had called her, she'd told her that Walter was acting strange, stranger than the usual Walter, and that, she'd better come and see for herself. _Astrid needed help handling Walter_. That, for one, scared her more than anything el**s**e.

The last hours have been atypical, in a bad way. Ever since the last altercation on Liberty Island, things had started to sound confusing. She wouldn't blame Walter, because she, too, had felt a bit detached. Disorientated. Weird. Strangled, as if a fist was wrapping itself around her heart, squeezing, tighter and tighter. She knew she must be feeling awful. She'd failed her promises_. 'Both _Universes can survive, there must be another way, and I promise you I will find it'_. I promise you…_Both universes were now, breaking down. And, she was helpless in the matter. She could feel it. Which was why she could vaguely distinguish it from what else she'd been feeling, lately. That, was something she couldn't define yet. Something dominant, influential. Frustrating. She couldn't combat against it. Because it was strong, and, she hated feeling that vulnerable. She hated it, because, for the first time, since John's death, she was feeling… unaided.

Alone.

"Olivia," Astrid called, impeding her train of thoughts. "I'm so sorry I had to disturb you."

"No, it's fine. What happened?" Astrid didn't answer, she must have noticed something was wrong, because she gave Olivia a questioning glare before, finally, she broke the silence. "Are you ok?"

Startled, Olivia snapped "I'm good, how is Walter?"

"He's in the next office. He's looking for something. I have no idea, he's been angry the whole morning, enraged. He just throws things; he said he didn't want to see anybody. I've cleaned this place, just to distract myself. Olivia, I'm so worried about him." Astrid murmured. The young agent looked terrified, there was much to it then she was letting show along her tone. And, that didn't sound well.

"Alright, I'll try to talk to him. Maybe… Maybe he just needs some rest." Olivia assured her, with a faint smile. She didn't know who she was trying to convince, Astrid or herself. Because, she was sure that Walternate's accusation had taken something away from Walter. Something that would need time to recover.

Realizing how uncertain she seemed, Olivia swiftly tuned, and headed to the office.

Walter was sitting on the floor, the chair laid beside him, along with dozens of shattered, malformed or shrunk papers. Old books lay there in a fully unorganized pattern. A mess that surrounded an oblivious scientist who sat there, in the middle of the chaos, immobile, reading something. A red vine was quivering on his right hand. Wildly griped papers on his left hand. He was dejectedly focused, reading something.

Olivia took a step forward, unsure. "Walter?" she said, her voice betraying her absolute concern.

The scientist didn't flinch. "Walter?" she tried again, louder this time. She stepped closer, because she heard him muttering muffled words.

"Is everything ok?" She reached her hand, gently touching his shoulder. "Walter. Listen, wha—"

"SOMETHING is not right! No. I NEED to remember!" Walter cut her short, suddenly. He lifted his head, his face contorted in utter wretchedness.

"Walter, we all know you wouldn't do such thing."

"No.. No… " He resumed shaking his head.

"I know you'd crossed universes for a good re**a**son."

"Nonono…"

_Please focus, Walter._

"Walter, Listen to me—"

"NO!" he yelled, she froze. "CAN'T YOU FEEL IT?" He threw the papers he'd been holding, and grabbed others. "Something is wrong!"

And, God, she felt it. _Something was definitely off beam._

"Walter," She couldn't finish the sentence, because her voice was sounding more helpless then she could tolerate, whilst, she needed to comfort Walter, but, how? She figured that, all of a sudden, it seemed to be a difficult task. A very, very difficult task. Thankfully, Walter was planning to interrupt her anyway, "I asked Belly to remove my brain parts, you see? Fauxlivia knows that, because… Because… _That woman_ came back with me. And Belly told me…" he stopped abruptly, before he growled, "I need to remember. I need to remember … " He repeated it over and over. His eyes began watering.

"Walter, I know. " Yes, she knew. Walter had asked William Bell to remove his brain parts, because somebody had told her, _somebody_…

_Walter was afraid of what he was becoming_. And, Damn, it was that odd feeling again, the one she couldn't define. "You were afraid of what you were becoming. You don't have to prove anything. I know you agreed on removing the brain parts AFTER you came back from the other side the first time." She hopped he wouldn't ask how she knew that, because, she couldn't explain it. She just knew._ Intuition_.

Walter stilled. He cocked his head doubtfully. Knocking his eyebrows, and narrowing his eyes, he asked. "You can feel it too, Agent Dunham? Isn't that right?"

"Feel what, Walter?" He just read her like a book. And, he was now studying her. He knows the answer. He was right; she could feel something was wrong, yes.

"Yes, YES!" He rasped out, "I knew, something happened. Things are not right. I'm missing something… I don't know! I need to remember… " He stopped, looking away, his face confused, just for a moment, before his expression seemed determined again. Alert to something.

"No, I won't remember anyway. What I feel doesn't matter; we need to work, to save two universes. It's my entire fault. And… " His voice broke when he added, "I MUST FIX IT." Emphasizing on each word, "YES!" He spluttered, gathering the papers, before he quickly stood up, and headed towards the door.

He stopped, abruptly. She could notice a tear trickling down his cheek as he glanced over his shoulder. She felt like crying too, but Walter doesn't need to know that. "Olivia," He croaked, there was a moment of silence, before he choked out, quietly. "He told me I'm small." Her pulse raced, she wasn't expecting that at all. Those words were harsh, callous. And, she knew Walter felt worse.

"Walter, you know that cannot be true. You—" But the scientist knows how to end conversations. "I should apologize to Astro." He whispered. Hurried, he took a big mouthful of the Red Vine the**n** walked out.

**Unknown Place. Two days later.**

Shins felt sore. Bone chilling cold sunk tiny teeth into his bare feet. Peter's body felt worn out, but he wouldn't stop pacing. Rapid, enraged steps hit the hard floor reciprocating angry pain. His throat was raw, because he wouldn't stop yelling at the cruelly silent walls. Maybe, it would help him calm down.

They wouldn't tell him a thing, therefore, he would never give up.

It had been almost two days. He'd figured that much since they'd offered him food four times now. They deliver meals twice a day. Or at least it was what he'd assumed, judging by the long time separating each two visits. Because, yeah, it was the only thing Peter longs for the whole time. Waiting until he hears foreign steps. Until the little mid-circular spot in the bottom of one of the walls opens, disconnecting itself up from the floor. He Shouts, questions, asks till the small tray slides over before the automatic door closes down once more, sending him yelping like a _pet_ left to die in the desert, alone.

Peter had heard much about certain methods of torture that consist on disconnecting the victim from people for a long time, to prevent human contact, thus, leave them wanting out of it, dying to give anything away just to prevent the mere torment of loneliness. He wouldn't fall for that. Never. He'd be out of here, soon. _There is always hope._ Olivia would show up, shouting 'FBI'. Olivia would be here, for him_. Oliv**i**a_.

He sat down, again, letting his mind enjoy the dreamy assumptions, if—when he would be back, he'd never, ever again, complain about Walter for making noise when he'd be trying to sleep. Hell, he would even chat, sing, recite the Fibonacci sequence with him until they'd both give up to tiresome and _relaxed_ stupor. Walter would love that. _Walter_.

His ears sent instantaneous shivering through his pooped body as they detected the very sound of footfalls he'd been waiting for. Peter's eyes widened. He had a plan. He had a plan! A foolish one, actually. But he would try anything. For the sake of a change, he'd try anything. They wouldn't wait for him, so he had to move, now. Anxious, he launched himself forward. Quickly. Very quickly. Frog marched toward the familiar spot as it begun moving up. He unthinkingly shoved his hand through the small crack. He had sworn to never let go of the thing he'd grab at if he succeeded, not until they would tell him something, anything. So, when his palm made contact with smooth, tepid skin, he let his fingers squeeze around further, his nails furiously dug deep until he could feel warm liquid slightly flowing down. Blood. He could hear a restrained cry. _The jerks were trained not to make sound._

"_YOU LITTLE BASTARDS!" _He heard himself choke out. "What the hell do you want from me?"

SILENCE.

"What about the others, Walter, Olivia?"

Okay, then, they wouldn't talk anyway. The plan was failing.

He could feel the wrist he was catching, twisting to free itself, and he knew it was just a matter of time before it succeeds. He also knew that he was screwed once the little door started shutting down on his aching, stretched arm. _Way to go Peter! _Before he could think, much less move back his hand, He found himself trapped down. His right wrist throbbing under the sharp edge of the little door they'd just mid-closed_. And, n_o, they hadn't cut out his hand_. Out of pity?_

His heart pounded against his chest as he noticed them wrapping something circular around his wrist, locking it in place. Something stiff and huge, apparently to prevent him from pulling back his hand. _What?_

Seconds later, the footsteps started fading away. _They were leaving him stuck down there?_

This was not happening, no. "HEY!" He called, "WHAT THE HELL? What are you doing?"

_They are leaving, they are leaving! _

He yelled again, "Come back here, YOU BASTARDS!" _Please, come back._

"DON'T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS!" _No!_

Well, yeah, they left him like that.

"COME BACK HERE!"

And they were gone. "Don't leave me like this." Peter just whispered, closing his eyes. Frustra**t**ed.

They didn't come back; they hadn't listened, as if they ever did, so he had to spend the next hours there, stuck, flat, face down on the gray flooring. Because, hey, they made sure his restrained hand wouldn't be able to rotate. A punishment, then. They hadn't mid-closed the door out of _pity_ after all. Good to know.

Minutes swallowed seconds, hours swallowed minutes, Peter swallowed what little moisture he'd gathered from his dried out throat. Because yeah, 'stuck' meant no water, too. He had been cursing them for calling 'food' those things they regularly give him, as they were anything but. Right now that 'food' seemed heavenly tasty. However, he's still cursing them, for assuming he wouldn't starve without _swallowing _something. He then cursed himself for thinking they were kind enough to care about his _state of hunger_.

He prayed for blessing slumber, but it wouldn't come. So, he just laid there. Hours and hours,.

They came back with a meal, two days later, he assumed. He yelled some more, scrubbed his swollen wrist, silently groaned in pain, hurriedly consumed his food, and irritably resumed pacing the room. Peter wouldn't sleep, now that he could, ironically.

This was insane. Sheer boredom drove him infuriated. And because the last remains of patience had drifted away moments ago, he decided to bear the noisy quietness by creating distractions, resist his inability to resist by willpower alone. And, endure what he cannot understand, if that was even possible, by trying to understand it.

Peter would try, and keep trying. His mind told him never to succumb. His body wouldn't agree, hence, his legs betrayed him; buckled swiftly beneath him, and he dropped to the ground with a thud, panting. _Screw them! Screw them! Screw them … _Exhaustion, pain, and sleep deprivation had taken their toll, finally. His eyes slid shut by their own volition. And this time, he let them. Sleep would be the distraction he needed. Sleep would also prove he still had some of that control over his life he'd fought to keep sensing the second his freedom had been taken awa**y**.

**Blue Universe. Outside of a Boston museum.**

The bald man cocked his head, writing something on a small book as another man arrived, "I think she might remember."

"I think not. However, we must be aware." The arriving Observer remarked.

September started pressing buttons on his communicating device. "I will take care of that." He confirmed.

TBC...

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><p><strong>It's still slowly developing. I hope you enjoyed it! <strong>

**plz plz plz review! If you liked/disliked plz review it's the only way to help me improve my writing skills, and to encourage me to write more.**


	3. It is time

I don't own Fringe.**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Amy,<strong> Thank you so much for reviewing! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Bambi1995, **Yes, the bald letters refer to the dominating theme of the next chapter, they may also be clues/hints. They're just for fun. Like the glyphs on a Fringe episode. Thanks for reviewing and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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><p><strong>Chapter III<strong>

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><p><em>"When you get to the end of your rope. Tie a knot and hang on." — Franklin D. Roosevelt<em>

**Red Verse. The secretary of defense's office. Three weeks later.**

_Was it guilt? _He was Walter Bishop, the secretary of defense, the man who'd sacrificed his life striving to save his devastated universe. He'd do anything to protect it, no matter how cruel he'd seem in public. He had a purpose he wouldn't blink contentedly until it is achieved. He'd wipe out the other side, the one whose people had _dared_ to defend nature, and heartlessly shattered his world, his parents and children's home. He'd avenge all the horribly killed babies, the orphans, the children and women, the thousand innocents stuck inside the amber… Yes, he is a destroyer of worlds. Yes, he had crossed lines. And, yes, he admits he wasn't sure about the integrity of his actions. Maybe that was the reason he'd feel uncomfortable after each step he'd take, believing it would save his world. Maybe he should have thought twice before rejecting all the other universe's attempts to negotiate with his world. Maybe then, he wouldn't be sensing that something was wrong. Maybe, he was just exhausted and nee**d**ed some rest.

_I've seen doomsday, and it is worse than anything I've ever seen before._ That voice, again… was it guilt?

He had decided not to tell right and wrong apart as long as it serves an honored achievement. He was now questioning the uprightness of that decision. He couldn't press on his mind to forget that confrontation in Liberty Island three weeks ago. What if, indeed, the two universes were _inextricable_? Were they together heading to the inevitable doom? He refused to cooperate that day, he was driven by resentment. Should he reconsider his decision? He didn't think so.

The guest he'd been expecting arrived. He gestured for her to sit. She smiled.

He'd thought twice before agreeing on meeting her. He doesn't know her, and, to his mind, all the people belonging to the other side were alike, monsters. She'd asked personally to see him claiming she had important stuff he must know about.

She looked fine, well-dressed, and elegant. She was holding some folders. Her expression firm, smart, she was likely a woman of control.

He looked puzzled, apparently, because she chose to speak first, intermitting his thoughts, greeting, "Hello, Mr Secretary. I'm well pleased to meet you."

"The honor is mine, Miss Nina Sharp?"

"That is right." She nodded. There was a short moment of awkward silence she instantaneously broke, "I suppose you take no notice of the reason I asked for this meeting."

"I suppose it is about the same old topic. And I suppose you already discern my opinion in the matter."

"You mean refusing to help stop the demolition of two universes?" She spat out in an accusing tone. Actually, she put it bit strictly.

"I mean protecting my world."

"You're a man of science Mr Secretary. Don't tell me you never tried to give it a thought. A normal person would notice the way the current state of your universe is slowly affecting ours. It is a matter of time before both worlds literally vaporize."

"And by 'the current state' of my world you mean the one your side had caused? How am I to trust working with you?"

"I don't want to take much of your time Mr Secretary. You need information and expertise, we need your technologies. You say we are enemies, I say we have a common goal. " She pointed out, shortening three weeks of useless talk.

"You're asking me to work with the man who had destroyed my world."

"Along with the woman you have attempted to butcher her brain for studies, yes." She hinted. This was beginning to make him feel uncomfortable. He knew that, lately, he must have taken some wrong but necessary verdicts; nonetheless, she had to comprehend that she was asking a man to betray his world.

"I understand, but your asking-"

"I think we both know what it is I'm asking Mr Secretary. And it is above any of us to question its honorability." She instantly broke off. He was a man of honor, no d**o**ubt.

She studied him. Calm, holding a piercing look, she sustained, "By the way, the man you're referring to had punished himself in more than one way, for one, he had asked a scientist that works in Massive Dynamic, our company, to remove his brain parts." She handed him some papers, some surgery schedules. She was telling the truth.

She didn't wait for him to form a reply before she added. "The man you are referring to is the same man who is now spending his time in his lab, trying to save both universes. The man we are talking about here, Mr Walter Bishop, is also your double."

"No, I would never-"

"-Let's not forget that you have tried to do the same." She cut him short, pretending she was just finishing her first sentence. Insinuation loaded among her words. "We're both intelligent people Mr Bishop; two versions of one person put in the same circumstances must have a similar approach of making decisions. Genetics, Mr Secretary, is a science we share." He never thought of it that way. Nevertheless, circumstances or not, he would never cross the laws of nature. A person must know how he or she would behave in certain situations. Right?

"No. He-"

"-However, that is not today's business Mr Bishop, or is it?" She interrupted him again. He didn't complain. _What was wrong with him?_

His feature must have given much away, because she took liberty to handle the rest of discussion for him. "And we have already wasted much valuable time I believe. Here is the aftermath of those three weeks of our human stubbornness." She'd certainly meant_ his_ stubbornness. She handed him more papers. "Over 30987 individuals died, 43500 injured, and the list is still long, how about your side Mr Bishop?" There, he knew what was wrong with him; she had a point. She was being in charge of the conversation, which often happens when one's arguments prove to be stronger. She had well-built arguments, his were beginning to sound very less reasonable, suddenly.

"As I said before, a common threat is something _enemies_ cooperate to fight. Yes, I am asking you to work with the man who'd caused this, who is now taking no break in finding solutions, and I believe two Dr Bishops is something we can only hope for." She cocked her head, glaring at him with a sharp smirk, before she continued "I don't want you to make an immediate decision Mr Bishop. You know How to contact us." _Immediate_. She was referring to his decision three weeks ago. "Thank you for your time." She finished. And with a respectful gesture, she walked toward the door, leaving the folders on his desk. She told him the words he needed to hear for a long time; he wanted to thank her too, but that didn't mean he w**o**uld.

She was right; the two universes are inextricable. It was the only explanation he'd been constantly avoiding to admit. Indeed, they have a universal goal. She was right, again; he'd already wasted too much time, while the other Walter was proving to be a better person. Above and beyond, the safety of his universe is what matters most, so he won't risk throwing away more valuable time. "I agree." He said, simply, feeling a sense of relief as it overcame his weighted heart. She was right, once more; He was being stubborn.

The woman turned to face him; she raised her eyebrows, seemingly surprised. "Oh! Well, that's perfect. In that case, I must deliver the good news." He nodded, but not before she marched away.

Secretary Bishop must have spent a while sunk in bottomless thinking, because the next thing he knew, Brandon was asking for his permission to enter.

"Sir, did that woman convince you to lend a hand with OUR enemies?" He looked angry, he must be irritated.

_She did help put my thoughts in order._ "This was something I had to do for quite a while."

"Sir, even if the two universes were both to be destructed, we cannot work with those monsters, we must avenge our losses, or at least make sure we die trying." He trilled. His face was a mixture of annoyance and melancholy.

Walter couldn't blame the scientist. He still remembered that incident as if it were yesterday. The day he'd asked him authorization to use the shapshifter's devise. Brandon had lost the woman he loved, Merya, in one of the poisonous areas after a Fringe event. The man was so obsessed with her he wouldn't allow her body to rest before he'd used it to create and program a shapeshifter. Since that day, he'd been sharing his days with Merya, the shapeshifter, making sure he'd avenge her. Walter had promised him he'd attain his retribution. However, he won't risk the lives of his innocent people for the sake of revenge. That is not what he is.

Brandon was opening his mouth to protest again, but the Secretary stopped him. "I never said this was open for debate."

The scientist seemed shaken, remained silent for seconds before he nodded, "yes, sir." Next, he hurried to get out.

"The past mustn't blind us anymore Brandon. We need to focus on saving those who might still be alive if we start working now." Walter Bishop admitted, "It is time!"

Brandon nodded. He didn't seem convinced. It doesn't matter.

**Blue Verse, Olivia Dunham's residence. Three weeks later.**

Olivia was tired. The smooth pillow wasn't doing much easing her headache, her used up mind said so.

It had been almost three weeks since the Liberty Island's discouraging event. Olivia had now grown familiar with the ragging sensation that had been hunting her around. She'd tried to depict it several times; the results weren't too tempting. Actually, they were scary. It was like a very big part of her heart, mind and soul had been taken away. She could feel the lack of it stinging, deep inside. Her confused, misplaced, nostalgic senses were lost among each other, groaning, suffering, calling for that missing part. Whatever that 'missing part' was.

It was a puzzle she couldn't solve, she was certain she wouldn't too, because more than a few vital pieces were absent. It irritated her. It made her chokingly bad dreams sound so real, so easy to believe, so distressing to overlook, let alone to forget. She guessed John's death had affected her more than she had firstly thought. She'd dropped that assumption days later for John's name would fill no space inside that inner hole of nothingness she felt and hated, not a tiny small spot, because, yeah, Walter's name would fill something, and that was particularly odd, very confusing. She would spend hours and hours in the lab, where she'd feel warm, strangely safe. Her heart pacing whenever Astrid brings up Walter's name, hopping, threatening to break out of her chest each time Broyles mentions Bishop's name. _Bishop._

The bed shook slightly as she shifted to her side. _Bishop_. Sleep would be a long way to co**m**e.

There had been no bizarre cases lately. That much was fortune, because she was lacking something, and it made her unfocused. She needed to put things together, but things were pretty much shattered, literally.

Broyles wouldn't show up nor call until he'd have new information about the negotiations the government had scheduled with the other side, which were, till now, futile.

Walter had sunk into deep desolation. Sometimes he'd mutter things quietly, but he wouldn't share discussions anymore. He'd been puzzled, disconnected since that day she'd tried to talk him out of his suffering, since he'd decided to save both universes, alone. He'd once told her and Astrid he was close to figuring out a way to locate and close the soft spots on both universes, when they'd tried asking him what he needed to finish the work, he'd seemed blocked for a while before he had croaked that he needed things he couldn't remember, after that he'd freaked out, insisting he'd never fix the mistakes he'd committed, he'd never recall important stuff. She had never heard him mention anything about his work progress after that. Astrid would always be on his side, comforting him, trying to bring him back to the present until he'd harshly kick her out of conversations, just to apologize later. She knew Astrid wouldn't give up on him, but the junior agent seemed exhausted lately, much like everyone else.

She'd once, went earlier than usual to the lab. She'd found Walter mixing up ingredients, he'd told her he was baking a cake. A birthday cake. Later on, Astrid had asked him whose birthday was it. He'd spent fifteen minutes staring blankly before he'd let go of trying to evoke his rebellious memories. At the end of that day, Olivia had felt worn out, and it had nothing to do with the fact that it'd taken them the whole day to convince Walter he wasn't losing it, but because she also had been trying badly to remember, for the day felt distinguished, so significant. She'd already been wearing new cloths, She hadn't asked Walter about the cake because she'd felt like cooking one too. She might be _loosing it _after all.

Olivia's phone rung. She jumped slightly, "Dunham," She answered, blinking away throbbing thoughts.

It was Broyles, he told her it was time to tell Walter the good news. The two sides would work together providing information and technologies to each other. Walternate had just agreed.

"It is time," she murmured. "Finally."

She pushed the blanket, sending it flying in the air, grinning because the sight reminded her of the day Walter had tried to clean his house. Her smile quickly faded as she wondered how the hell did she know, much less remember every detail about an event she'd never witne**s**sed.

**Unknown place. Thirty two days later.**

Peter had picked his favorite corner days ago. He'd curled into a ball. The smallest possible. He would shift positions once his right side would start aching. He'd been focusing on a small spot, a blood stain, on the farthest wall, ten feet away. His muscles were shaking, lips quivering, "1, 1, 2, 3 …" _No, no._ That way, he wouldn't sleep, because the numbers were mouthed; they should be _spoken_. Waft. Sound._ LIFE. _"1, 1, 2, 3 … 3… 3… " _Walter. _Walter wakes him up at three o'clock every morning. Used to.

Those moments, when his rage would settle down, He'd feel cold. His hands would freeze, so, he'd gather them, palms flat up against each other, and together, between his thighs. They hurt like hell, but they would recover, eventually, just like they always do, when he'd slam his fists against the bathroom door, again and again, until his knuckles would bleed, until his fingers wouldn't curl anymore. His feet would keep throbbing, because after he'd use them callously while standing, he'd tap them on the hard floor while laying, once he'd give up inventing new noise sources. "5, 8 … 8… 8… " _Olivia's lucky number._

They hadn't spoken. Peter had tried every possible trick to yank the words out of them, vainly. They were playing a sick game, and they knew how to do it, actually, they were so damn good at it. He'd presumed it after his third trick, in which he'd waited near the little portal till it opened. Once the tray was slid over, he had quickly pushed it back before they had the time to reclose it. He'd toyed with them three times after that; pushing out the tray once it appears, teasing them, feeling a momentarily satisfaction about it.

The forth time they'd sent a tiny dark sphere instead, and they made sure not to do it until the door was almost shut. It had taken him a while to figure out it was an _elegant_ gas container. "13, 21 … " The gas had taken twenty one seconds to spread over the whole perimeter. Peter had spent the next hours in the bathroom. Screaming every air molecule out of his lungs, muscles cramps had kept sending him trembling uncontrollably as his throbbing eyes wouldn't stop tearing. The little dark sphere was his frightening nightmare.

Although he had lost all tracks of time, he assumed he'd been here for a well painful while, most likely a month. A month. Thirty days. _Olivia. Walter._ _Astrid_… He couldn't tell night from day anymore. He'd stopped estimating since the bastards had chosen to keep the lights on all the time, and alter the meals' schedule. They were, now, delivering food as said by their own choosing, either once in a little while; two hours perhaps, or once in a big while; definitely no less than two days. Whenever they see _fit_, they _feed_ him. They control him like a piece of equipment, he hates it. It was agonizing. It was also humiliating.

_If only_ they could _permit_ him a small glimpse beyond the horrid roof. Just to make sure there's a sun falling and rising on a blue sky out there, just like anywhere else. He much doubted that one. Nature can't reach this place; nature is pretty.

He'd once decided to _trick_ them into believing he was unresponsive, dead perhaps. He'd hided in the bathroom, stopped eating and making sound, for a couple of days. The bastards had solved that one out quickly. They'd sent the little dark sphere, witty, for it would help them hear his glass shattering cries; just to be sure he was still there. _No worries_. They were professional. They were goo**d**. _No compliment there. Screw them!_

The all very familiar sound of footfalls echoed. He didn't start. They shoved the tray hard it stopped right in front of his unmoving foot. He still didn't start. The poorly cooked meat dropped to the side along with the rigid, tasteless, very memorable bread. The broth just spilled on the filthy tray, sending its corky smell all over the room. But he wasn't hungry. He was starving, starving for answers. And they know it, God, they know it.

"34, 55 …" _fifty five, …_

"Fifty five, Huh, I hate that number… " he rumbled, chuckled soundlessly, mocking himself innerly for the memory it brought along. This had been another foolish trick. He had decided to make them, this time, notice he was there, literally. He had grabbed the metallic tray and had spent hours slamming it against the wall, in which the little door usually appears, making noise, _bothering the bastards_. Hoping they'd ask him to shut up. Fifty five was the number of the last thump before he'd stopped counting, before he'd resumed repeating the number over and over, striking frantically, breathing wildly. He'd spent the next few hours with a very bad headache. Funny how he'd ended up hurting himself, just like addled people do. He hates Fifty five. Fifty five makes him remember the headache he'd brought upon_ himself_. _Headache. Ache_. His right side ached and he rolled himself, facing the wall, cursing its peacefulness. He recalled that Walter had once told Olivia that if you're going crazy, you'd likely have no idea it's happening. He might be loosing his mind after all, he could be going crazy. And, Hell, that was one miserable theory. It might be wrong too, he couldn't tell. All he knew was that he was still here, blinking away delusions, clinging at his shreds of s**a**nity.

Sometimes he'd wonder how a human could afflict this upon another, other times he'd just curse himself over such _self pity moments_.

He wasn't dead yet, because he was still breathing. He was alive, for he wouldn't stop fighting, combating hopelessness. The pole of eleven trays in front of him was enough proof he wouldn't give up. He'd gathered them, during his last trick, which consisted on refusing to give them back after the bastards arrive to _serve_ the next meal. He kept two, four, ten… Except, they hadn't run out of trays yet. But, they would, he was hopeful they would. So, he'd wait._ Wait. _He wouldn't give in to despair. "Screw them … screw them all!" he groaned.

Deep inside, he believed there'd be an end to his ordeal. A happy one. Nevertheless, he was tired, gravely drained his brain couldn't help feeling carless anymore. So, he just laid there, killing time. Nothing mattered, because he grew bored with everything here. Nothing _really_ mattered, because it all has the same agonizing description of _routine_.

Surprises don't occur around this _hellish_ place.

He believed it. Lived with it. So, when the wall behind him started shoving itself up, the way the little door habitually opens, he didn't care, it might be just another dream, because real and imagination were as confusingly interfered with each other as his misery and anger usually were. He couldn't tell them apart. Not anymore.

The wall was plunged far up it disappeared somewhere. He still didn't turn around, not until the familiar figure standing there, cocked its head, and calmly, very calmly, greeted, "Hello, Peter."

Peter's jaw dropped, his pupils dilated alarmingly. His eyes unwrapped wide he thought his eyeballs would fly awa**y**.

His whole body resumed trembling, "So much about humans." He mumbled, sardonically, despondently.

The figure kept studying him before declaring, "It is time."

TBC…

* * *

><p>Well, there! It started…<p>

Reviews plz!


	4. Planning and executing

**CHAPITRE IV**

* * *

><p>"<em>My nearest and dearest enemy." Thomas Middleton<em>

**Liberty Island. The Bridged-Room. Hours later.**

"So, they just agreed?" Olivia demanded, unable to hold her excitement. Anticipation grew with every step she took toward the full-sized round table they've brought over especially for the important meetings the common room would witness in the future.

"Apparently," Broyles replied, "Walternate only needed some more convincing."

"What about the past negotiations? I mean, their main purpose was to convince him, right?"

"Not really, the government showed little interest in working side by side with parallel universes, they were focusing their full attention on encouraging scientific laboratories and research facilities in the hope of fixing the ongoing deterioration. The scheduled negotiations were the best thing they could have offered us after Massive Dynamic's insistence on working with the other side."

"So, what changed?" Olivia asked as she picked one of the wooden **c**hairs and sat on it.

"After Walternate's rejection of three successive negotiation teams, Nina Sharp had asked personally to meet him." Broyles told her with a sly gesture. _Nina Sharp._

"Nina Sharp!"

"Yeah." Broyles sighed, placing some folders he'd been holding on the table. He rested his elbows onto it, crossing his fingers. He let out a clear sigh of relief as he added "Nina Sharp." The women may be dark, hiding immeasurable mysteries, but nobody could deny that, whatever her intentions were, she provides much needed help.

Behind them were Walter and Astrid, precipitating to reach the seats.

"It took him three weeks to agree, who said I needed his help anyway?"

"Walter!"

"The Hybrid!" The scientist yelled.

"What?" Astrid squinted at him, puzzled.

"The name." He answered, her face grew more confused. "The room, I named it!" Walter explained, "I was torn between 'The bastard' and 'The hybrid'."

"Oh, That's… Good." Astrid lied then took her seat next to him.

Glad that Walter had finally shared a conversation, Olivia appended, "They're bringing along all the equipments you need, Walter."

Walter didn't answer, because he glimpsed walternate and Brandon heading toward their direction.

They greeted, all remaining professional.

"I have an Idea. And we don't have much time left." Walter broke off, quickly, stealing short glances to where Walternate sat. He literally didn't want to waste time.

It was walternate who answered him. "Let's hear it." His face showed nothing but seriousness.

"Years ago, I devised a small mechanism to plug a hole between the two universes," He shifted his attention to Olivia, "The one we used two years ago… when we split that man… James or Jackson-"

"Jones? David Robert Jones?" Olivia hinted. Walter looked embarrassed as he nodded. Brandonate rolled his eyes.

"I believe I can make certain modifications on that devise, first we need to locate every soft spot," Walter put in plain words. He glared at Brandon, then Walternate as he added, "-on both universes."

Walternate looked amazed; seemingly, he wasn't expecting that his alternate version had achieved that much. Astrid drew a short smirk on her face, she looked proud of the way Walter is handling this. Olivia inhaled as she wetted her lips, because she felt the same as Astrid.

They all drove their attention back to Walternate. He was supposed to say something after all. Indeed, he stated, "We will provide all the information we have about the soft spots, as well as the devises we usually use to detect them. Brandon will help you-"

"Sir, there is much work-" Brandon butted in, just to be silenced by Walternate's voice again, "Brandon would take care of things on my side." Walternate shot him a death glare before he offered, "I'll be assisting Dr Bishop, and I'll be bringing every new piece of data we collect myself."

Olivia felt creepy, because she honestly wanted to thank Brandonate for complaining against showing his ass around here in the future. She was barely containing the urge of putting a bullet between his zombies' eyes. It had taken all her patience to control herself in front of these people, and all her conscious view to be **o**kay with it.

"That's perfect." Broyles approved. He swallowed, apparently waiting for the war of glances between Walternate and Brandonate to settle down. "The devise Dr Bishop has just spoken of is currently being preserved in a company called Massive Dynamic. I will speak with Nina Sharp to hand us the equipment in addition to all the data every scientist they have, had gathered about this. She's currently in an important mission outside the country. She'd be here in a day at last. She's asked me to apologize for she couldn't assist the first meeting between us."

Walternate nodded, "I understand. Send her my sincere salutations."

"I will." Broyles answered.

"Send her mine too." Walter snapped.

"Very well."

Walternate composed himself, ready to leave. "We should get back, I will return shortly to bring along the information we possess."

"We can wait." Olivia agreed.

**Unknown place.**

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Peter raved as two bald guys hold him down. His adrenaline had rushed up and he'd launched himself on the very familiar observer. But, hey, they were expecting it.

For weeks, he'd been lingering, longing for the moment he'd meet one of his captors, picturing them in his mystified mind, formulating questions along with insults. At this moment, his memory wouldn't cooperate, his vocal chords would only wail; "Son of a bitch!"

"You could call me September." The familiar Observer said, coldly. His wall-like calmness was driving Peter crazy. "You seem upset."

"Yeah, Thanks, that's exactly how I feel!"

September glared, dipping his head to one side upon Peter's frantic struggling to free himself. "You shouldn't be angry. The plan had succeeded."

"Wha-What the hell is wrong with you, BASTARD?" Peter was furious now; this September has to be the biggest son of a bitch he'd ever encountered; he was telling him not to feel angry after all they had done to him. _He's not human; you can't expect him to think like us._ He shut his eyes, feeling a surge of panic as he wondered what the hell could have happened to Walter and Olivia.

"They are fine." September informed, his eyes never leaving Peter's side.

"What?"

"The others, they are fine."

Peter couldn't describe the liberation his heart has felt at the news. He was so relieved it took him a while to realize that September had just read his thoughts. His stomach twisted suddenly as he recalled that this bald idiotic may be defining 'fine' quite differently. "Where are they? What… What happened to them? In Liberty Island, what happened?" September maintained studying him. "ANSWER ME YOU FERAL!" Peter barked again, feeling his whole body coiling up. September put his black suitcase on the ground, pulled out some small machinery pieces, and embarked assembling them together. "Can I see them?" Peter tried again. The Observers holding him loosened their grip because he decided to stop struggling, it was futile anyway.

"You can watch them."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You should calm down."

"FUCK YOU!"

"They had agreed to work together. After three weeks. They have started yesterday. Congratulations."

_Screw you._ Peter clenched his teeth; the way those _creatures _talk was making him feel as if a clamp was tightened around his every nerve, he was using his best willpower to contain his rage right about now.

So, he was here for_… Three weeks?_ It sounded like a month. Curious, he queried, "Three weeks? It had been only three weeks?" Not that it made him feel any better.

"No. It had been thirty two days. Here, time runs quite differently."

"Wait, what?" Peter's stomach clasped. "What do you mean 'HERE'?"

_Where was he?_

"This is our world. Our home. Welcome, Peter."

"WHAT?" Peter huffed; every bit of his body invigorated a hasty pain. His throbbing hands resu**m**ed trembling, "Are you fucking CRAZY?"

"No." September answered, simply. "We have created this world. What do you call it?" He cocked up his head, seemingly trying to remember. "A wormhole. There is a wormhole in your universe. It leads here. A link between our two worlds." He finished, his hand grabbing at the small now assembled devise.

This would explain the unspeakable feelings that had been choking Peter, eating away at his body from the moment he'd woken up here. No wonder why he'd believed there were no signs of nature around here. Nature definitely can't reach this place. _Olivia and Walter must be so far away too._ "Okay, that's enough, can I go back now?" Peter sniped, hopeful, his heart beating fast.

"You shouldn't say that."

"I shouldn't say what?"

"You will never get back to your world. You have served your purpose. The others do not remember you anymore. For them, you have never existed. I brought you here myself. You must help us accomplish our great plan."

The twisting in Peter's stomach grew more uncomfortable. "What the fuck? What plan? What do you mean they don't remember? Like you FUCKING know them!"

"Your first part of the plan is to observe them."

_Observe?_ An Observer was asking him to observe, were they …? "Observe them? You mean… Become like you?" Peter asked. Bile formed in his throat at the mere thought of it.

"You have a sense of humor. Humans cannot become like us. They do not merit it."

"Well, I'm flattered. Whatever your wistful plan is, you can both go to hell."

"I must show you something. Stop talking."

"Make me!"

"I won't have to. Peter." September drove his attention to the devise at hand. It was a small circular tool, dark blue colored with yellow buttons. It looked like a control of some kind. He pushed one of the buttons. Peter knocked his eyebrows in amazement as the wall facing him started liquefying, until it resembled to a horizontal gray sea. When every motion stopped, it was as if the material wasn't rigid anymore.

In a matter of seconds, colors began shaping on the gray surface. _They bought him a TV?_ A picture formed, finally. And, it was the last one Peter ex**p**ected to see.

Peter's heart hammered frantically at the slow moving sight in front of him. His lips parted, but he didn't talk. He couldn't say a word. The screen showed Olivia, sitting with Walter, sharing a conversation, on a table most likely inside the bridge-room in Liberty Island. _Was he dreaming?_ His mouth remained open for a while, before he launched himself forward. He needed to touch their faces, just to make sure they were really there. The observers didn't stop him, so he reached his fingers to feel what appeared on the screen. His eyes narrowed as his hand penetrated the surface. With a wide perplexed, questioning look on his face, he turned his head to where September stood motionlessly studying him.

"It is a Window to the place where the others will be congregating. It will allow you to see them, better yet, be with them while they work." There was something about 'be with them' that sent a refreshing feeling through Peter's veins. He shot September one last, quick, glance before he stepped through the so-called window, his limbs quivering as his mind danced with varied sentiments.

"They won't see you. They cannot remember you. You never existed, for them." He heard September rasping behind him. _Yeah, whatever!_

**Liberty Island. The Bridged-room. **

Peter was in the bridge room; he came out of another watery wall behind him. He was only steps away from where Olivia and Walter sat. His family. They hadn't changed a lot. They seemed a bit tired; they were saving the universe.

"Okay, Broyles left to make some phone calls. Astrid is bringing food." He heard Olivia say. He couldn't force himself to look away as a flicker of a smile crossed her lips, her eyes grinned in response until her eyelids fell down and she let them rest for an instant, eyelashes flattening against her rosy cheeks as she curled her lips.

It took him moments to remember how to smile.

Although it had been a long time, Walter looked well; his father had been handling this quite courageously. It made his heartbeats pace madly in lawless joy. He kept gawking for a while, savoring the moment. His eyes watering as he let out shivery exhalations. Bliss overwhelmed him.

"You did good Walter!" Olivia added.

"Walter! Olivia!" Peter called, smiling widely. "I'm back!"

"I don't think so," Walter frowned.

"Come on Walter, it's me!"

"I couldn't remember the name of that James guy!" Walter said. Walter was answering Olivia. _What's wrong?_

_Weird_. Not that he wanted to ask much, but he could tell that they acted as if he wasn't there. _Was he? _

_Yes, it seems so real…_

Olivia patted Walter's shoulder, "Walter, It doesn't matter; you've just proved to be brilliant, we are so proud of you!" She purred.

"Guys. I'm here !" He sighed. Baffled, he hobbled toward them, and tried again. And once more. This time touching Walter's shoulder, hugging him then Olivia. He felt it, but he received no reaction, at all. He tried again before September's words struck him. _They don't remember you. They won't see you… _

"Walter… Olivia?" He whispered, breathing swiftly. It was as if every fine feeling inside him had just vaporized. September. The son of a bitch. _What have you done?_

He hurried toward the watery wall. Once in front of it, he heard Walter muffling, "You are a great person, Agent Dunham. If I ever had a son, I wouldn't hesitate having him marry you. I would ask him to wear my purple tuxedo too!"

_You never existed, for them… _

Tears of bitter disappointment streamed down, wiping away those of instant elation as he squeezed his eyes shut, plunging back th**r**ough the liquefied wall.

**The Observers home world, Peter's cell. Hours after Peter left.**

Peter opened his eyes; he was laying on the ground, back inside the discomfiting room, the magic wall that had allowed him to travel to Liberty Island and back was still activated, but the images faded, it was now just about a gray liquefied wall. September was coolly watching him.

"Okay, explain to me what the hell is happening here YOU FUCKING SON OF A BALD BITCH!" Peter shrieked, standing up in a heartbeat. Spikes of fury and desperation radiated through him. Haze formed around his vision. He needed answers.

"The portal you've just used to travel and meet the others, it is a devise. The DW, aka Dissipation Window; it transfers consciousness, energy, to the room in the Liberty Island. Your body remained here the whole time. Unconscious." September notified. Peter couldn't remember a time he'd felt that confused. _So_, _he'd just been on Liberty Island, but he hadn't really been there; only his consciousness? _ "Exactly." September agreed.

"That doesn't make any sense!"

"You are wearing shoes." Well, yeah, September has to point that out for Peter was too puzzled to notice they had made him wear new shoes while he was out of it. The thought rapidly struck him. His body was here, all the time. But, of course, why would they allow him to hang around freely? It's not like they were softhearted or something. "We have devised the Dissipation Window for you. To watch the people you knew, daily, until the day comes." September added. They wanted him to spend time with his beloved ones. That particular information frightened him, because he knew, from _painful_ _experiences_, that those beings do nothing out of _pity_.

"I appreciate your concern, but which day are we talking about here?"

"The day we will put you in the machine."

"WHAT? For what?"

"The machine will merge the two universes. It will create a new world. Our World."

_What? No_… "This is nonsense; I've already used the machine, I can control it. I have created the bridge, it's all done. Get over it!"

"Yes, you have, because you used the machine while being in a conscious state. It was also a part of the plan. You can control it, only if you were awake."

Peter wanted to say "theoretically, that's likely to be true." But instead he said, "You're bluffing."

"The machine has its own consciousness. You have a special connection to it, that is, the two of you together form one conscious being. When you are unconscious, or confused, the machine takes over the control. It uses its own consciousness." Peter snapped his jaw shut, his eyelids fluttered. September's words smacked him like a bad reminder. Yes, he could feel it. The first time He'd touched the machine, when he'd been unable to recognize himself anymore, he'd felt it. When he'd been weaponized, he'd heard its voice, deep inside, calling at him.

"I can provide an example." September hinted. But Peter already knew.

"The shapeshifters." Peter whispered, so quietly he hated how it sounded. He loathed that memory, and the way he'd felt. He detested September for making him feel this vulnerable, and himself for allowing September to make him feel that way.

"Indeed. Those five shapeshifters had orders from the parallel universe to cooperate and disassemble the machine on your side, in order to render it useless. The machine was protecting itself, through you. You killed them, for the machine to feel safe."

Peter had been used to kill those shapeshifters in order to protect the machine. September didn't need to put it that way, but September didn't need to do many _unkind_ things. However, what September did or didn't hadn't forbid Peter from wishing that, perhaps one day, the ground would open up and swallow him, along with the ugly machine, all together. He now had a scary idea on what the observer's plan is about, but he needed more details, as if it would make him feel more comf**o**rtable.

"So when I enter the machine unconscious, what would it do?" He asked then immediately shut his eyes; he was afraid of an already guessed answer.

"It will use its automatic function."

"Which is…?"

"It will join the two universes together. Every being on both sides will be wiped out. A new world will be created. Our World. Peter."

"THAT'S your brainless FUCKING plan?"

"Undeniably. We will finally achieve our big triumph. You are still going to have to help us, by watching."

Goats would fly before Peter could believe what his ears had just heard, let alone help the bald bastard. _The wacky was asking for his help._

"Help you extinguish every being on both universes, why not, when hell freezes!"

"We do not require your volition. The others you knew, they will be working inside that room. In front of you, you will observe nevertheless."

September seemed determined; he believed what he was saying. Their plan had definitely took big measuring before it came to this stage, hence, Peter had to ask, "Why watch them anyway?"

"The machine must recognize you as a Peter from the present time. You are important. We could have brought another timeline's Peter, except, it wouldn't work. You should witness the last events before we put you in the machine." September contemplated, all while remaining indifferent when he added, "You must be missing the others anyway. Humans are fragile. When you become convinced that it is too late, no matter how you try. You will watch them, to say goodbye." He kept studying Peter. Peter wished his eyes would blow out. Peter wishes **m**any things…

"No, Walter will figure out something." His so confident tone masked his fear. His shaken voice cheated away that awful sensation even as he added. "He will… Find out about your stupid plan."

"I do not believe so." September assured.

"You said there is a wormhole that leads here, I'm sure Walter will work on closing it." Peter blurted out, quietly. He figured he was trying to convince himself too, and it felt creepy.

"Yes he will, which is why we would use the machine before it happens. The others will close all the soft spots by a certain order. One by one, it is a determined path. The last one to be plugged is the wormhole that directs to here. We will wait until they serve their purposes, by fixing all the other problems, after that we will initiate the last part of our plan. Before they would have the chance to close the wormhole to this world, they will cease to exist."

"Why didn't you use the machine before now, why wait till that moment, it's not like you don't have all the _ingredients_ already?" Peter voiced his thoughts. He soon realized how desperate they sounded.

"We are not ready yet. The two universes must be fully healed. Habitable. That way we will obtain the new intact world we deserve and have been longing for. For centuries."

"What about this world, you said it is connected to ours, wouldn't it be destroyed once you collide the two universes?"

"This world. It is something we created ourselves. A shelter. We'd associated it only to your universe. It doesn't exist on other realities. You may call it an addition. When the two universes collide, all the additions, on both sides, will be destroyed, but not after a short time that will be enough for us to relocate to our new world once it's created."

"You are dreaming."

"We don't dream, we know all but logic."

Peter's legs quitted lifting his now weighted corpse. He dropped to his knees, resting his aching palms on the ground. He had all the answers now. They told him everything. It made his limbs tremble. His heart reacted as if a sharp sword had just penetrated itself in the center of it. They were planning God knows how long for this. It made him feel sick. He had helped them, thinking he was saving both universes. It made him feel sicker. "Silly bald creatures… Your thick plan will never work." He croaked.

"You don't understand. Peter. Our Plan has already worked. In a short time, the others will heal both worlds. You will see by yourself. Then your turn will come. The machine will create our eternal shelter. You, Walter, Olivia, Had helped us a lot. Thank you. "

_Whenever there is life, there is hope._ "They will remember me, somebody will remember me. I'll be out of here. And, you'll be so dead."

"You'd better hope no one does. If one of the others starts to remember, we would take care of **i**t."

"WHAT?" Peter picked up his head swiftly. "Screw you, you can't kill them! You NEED them!"

"I can't kill Walter. I can kill Olivia. You should consider this as a warning too. If you try to communicate with them, we will certainly notice that, it will do you no good, we will quickly fix the mistake, and you will lose Olivia."

Peter dropped his head again, staring at the deaf floor. The mere sight revolted him, so he squeezed his eyes shut. Why does it have to be this way? How did things suddenly become so fucked up?

They'd taken him out of the picture, weakened him, screwed up with his mind until his sanity threatened to remain undefined to him. He figured it wasn't a coincidence. They'd planned it all. Walter, Olivia, Walternate… were now working to fix both universes, just to offer two healed worlds in a gold platter for those jerks, those very jerks that would use his body to kill every human being, on both worlds. He'd been used to hate the fact that his body might be able to destroy one universe. He now hated every part of his body, knowing he would have done better to humanity if he'd _indeed_ never exi**s**ted.

Still, _there is always hope._

"There's gotta be another way." He murmured, curling his hands into fists.

"You always use that sentence. I have watched you for a long time, Peter. You badly believe in hope. However, I think it is too late, now."

"Fuck you."

"You are feeling unwell. You should be proud instead. You will be the last of your kind. The machine will protect you. You should enjoy your last days with the others, before you start a new life." With that, September brought his foot up hard it connected itself with Peter's stomach, choking the air out of his lungs.

"What the fuck did you do that for?" Peter screeched, panting, gasping for much needed air.

"You thought about escaping." September informed. The bastard had just read his thoughts. What kind of enemy was he exactly up against? How are they to fight th**e**m?

"Oh, really, thanks for letting me know." He muttered miserably. His sarcasm hadn't impressed September who just walked away. Peter braced himself, groaning in pain. Strangely appreciating it. Pain is good. Pain reminded him that he still existed, and that alone, would have him try everything, no matter how desperate.

They hadn't closed back the automatic wall from where September had shown up; they'd replaced it with an invisible shield. They apparently decided to offer him company from now on, to watch him. Beyond the removed wall, there was a very short corridor, at the end of which Peter glimpsed a metallic yellow door. They locked it, after that they disappeared.

Moments later, September came back. Another figure stood beside him, staring.

It wasn't seeing September smiling that stunned Peter where he sat, for it sickened him to the gut, it was realizing who the other familiar figure was.

Peter revised his idea about surprises not occurring around this place-the observer's home world.

**Liberty Island, The bridged-room. Three hours later.**

After a long wait, Olivia saw Walternate rushing in. He looked irritated. Brandonate came back too. She wondered why. _Son of a Bitch._

They came close in a matter of seconds; she could now have a good look on Walternate's face. It reminded her of the one he'd shot her, months ago, when she'd broken in the tank room while being stuck on the other universe and had tried to deliver a message to the other side before they'd stopped her.

That look had scared her. Now, it frightened her. Something was wrong. Definitely.

"THIS IS YOUR DOING!" he shouted at Walter who looked terrified as he mumbled, "I… what..? … What are you talking about?"

"Hey, please calm down and tell us what happened?" Olivia tried. Walternate behaved as if she hadn't just spoken. He addressed Walter, once more, "A virus had infected our systems, all of them, a very powerful virus. We've lost everything!"

"Oh my God!" Astrid muttered.

"The virus is foreign to our database. HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN THAT?" Walternate fired off, silence and shocked faces were momentarily exchanged before he snorted and stormed out. Brandonate shot them a disgusted look then followed his Secretary.

Walter stood astounded. Astrid patted his shoulder. Broyles shut his eyes, sighing, dropping his head forwar**d**.

Olivia felt guilty for feeling comfortable earlier.

TBC...

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><p>I hope you enjoyed this chapter.<p> 


	5. Inner Child

**Amy,** Thank you so much for following and reviewing my story, you have no idea how happy it makes me. Especially because I was seriously considering to stop posting since I was a bit desappoined and thought that actually no one is reading it. Peter Vs Observer? not really. One thing I can tell you is, "There is always hope." I have an ending in mind and I hope you'd like it!

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><p><strong>CHAPITRE V<strong>

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><p><em>"We are perverse creatures and never satisfied." -Nan Fairbrother<em>

**The Observers' Home World. Peter's Cell.**

The little Observer squinted at Peter. His eyes showed recognition. His features struggled to remain indifferent. He'd never grown up since their last encounter, not a bit. He seemed healthy, less ashen, and maybe… innocent.

They stood beyond the invisible shield, staring. Peter felt vulnerable. He pushed himself up. It cost him a huge effort, so he leaned against** t**he wall.

September gestured toward Peter. "This is your first assignment." He said.

"Understood." The child from underground replied. Peter had met him, but never heard his voice, nor did he assume that, that gifted scared kid could possibly have a connection with the Observers. He could see it now. He could see how things had been hovering around, things that had been there, waiting for the team to sense their surrounding odds, only they could never have been able to really see those things, because working with Fringe Division habituated all odds.

September glared as the little observer took a seat on a chair he'd brought along then he handed him a small gun and left. _The magic air gun. _

They brought a kid to guard him. Not that Peter underestimated the child, but it did make his heart jig, they obviously hadn't considered him as a threat. They'll regret it. Or at least he hoped they would.

Peter was neither in a good nor talkative mood; reviled silence enveloped the room for some time before the junior observer spoke, "My name is January."

September was bad enough. _Those creatures are months or something? _Because twelve is as small a number as the small could get considering the fact that many _centuries_ have been frittered for that number to take up a whole universe, after extinguishing countless numbers of humans of course. Selfish, g_reedy Observers…_

Peter didn't actually appreciate sharing a conversation with the kid, those people's lingo made him loath them to the core, and he really didn't feel like hating a child right now, no matter how _bald_ that child was.

"I don't like the Seniors' plan." January confessed.

_Now, that was unexpected._

He'd most likely needed to share a conversation. He'd decided to make Peter voice something. He succeeded, "How many of you share the same opinion? How many of you are there to start with?" Peter queried, interested.

"Many others,"

"Many others disagree and you'll execute it anyway?"

"No, 'many others' is the answer to your second question. You used 'to start with'."

Somehow, the way these Observers behave make Peter prefer communicating with machines instead. Not that someone had offered him that choice or anything. "Okay, just be a bit specific in the future."

"I will. 'Many others' means a big amount of watchers."

It wasn't exactly what he'd meant by being specific, but it did give him something about those creatures that were planning to occupy humans' worlds; they were 'a big amount of watchers'.

"Twelve populations. Each has its own leader; seniors. I will be the twelfth senior once I'm effectively trained. The great Senior is called December, his accessory **i**s September."

"Okay, so, among all the others, who else is sharing the same opinion as yours?"

"Just me. I cannot express my disagreement. I would be punished."

_Well, then, keep it to yourself._ Peter had been already beginning to think that a revolution could be a good idea. "That's disappointing." He muttered.

January didn't seem to have a problem with providing information. Peter decided to take that as an offer he wouldn't reject, who knows? Maybe the kid would unintentionally let something slip out. "So you guys can read minds, right?" He asked.

"Not really," January presented, "We can predict the last thought to be verbalized or acted by a human body."

That was something, if only one could hide that last thought somewhere…

"It needs many experienced mind calculations. I haven't developed that ability yet. It needs more training."

Good news, strangely. At least his guard cannot read his mind all the time. They really underestimated him, and now, more than ever, he really wished they'd regret it… Slightly excited, Peter went on with his inquiry, "What about those things that you shouldn't know, but you know anyway?"

"We predict the future. Probabilities. We can see possible outcomes. We can change them too, if we interfere in the natural course of events."

"So you've accomplished your plan using those interferences?"

"Yes. I must add the ability to travel through time, and between dimensions." January cocked his head, "We can also hear or sense things, that depends on the time each one of us had spent underground. I'm very good at sensing and heari**n**g."

Surprised, Peter asked, "You folks came from underground?"

"On the contrary. We have been stuck underground. I was the last one to be brought out."

"Stuck? What, like somebody had buried you or something?"

"A human scientist. He'd sent us there for our abilities had shocked him. We are the results of a human experiment."

Human greed. Human passion Human passion. Humans commit mistakes, crimes against each other. Humans hurt each other. January's declaration hadn't surprised Peter, because humans have to be responsible for their own obliteration. Peter almost laughed at the irony of it. Almost.

January shut his eyes for a moment; Peter could've sworn he'd seen a sad expression as it fleetingly sprinkled over his feature. The kid leaned his head against the wall, and breathed, "I don't want her to die."

Peter's heart pounded, he clenched his jaw, so tight his teeth protested. He took a deep breath.

"I don't want her to die too." He said softly, sighing. The boy was referring to Olivia. He had to feel guilty for watching her die and being unable to stop it for the sake of a plan, strangely, Peter figured that January's situation wasn't that dissimilar from his. The only difference was that he wouldn't be staying here.

If there was anything to be done, this room was definitely the last place wherein he'd try it.

"I don't have to read your mind to know what's in it right at this moment." January's voice startled him. There was only one option anyway, so, yeah, January needn't read his mind. Peter squinted at the kid. He also didn't have to speak for January to work out that they were thinking about the same idea.

"Go." January said. "They won't stop you."

Peter forced a gracious one-sided smile as he headed toward the _soggy_ wall.

"There is something you should know first," January's voice stopped him. "Once you touch the Dissipation Window it will affect your body in a way that makes it so attached to what happens over there, I don't know how they do it. The last time you were on the other side of the window, September told us that your eyes had begun tearing before you'd woken up. Be carful."

"Then I can just kill myself out there!" Peter hoped. It struck him how desperately he longed for the moment he would be allowed to take his own life and end all of this. _Would it be that easy?_

Sometimes, he hated how badly he actually believes in his _wishful thinking._

"I don't think it would be that easy." January explained, "I meant just small reactions, tears, perspiration, urin-"

"-I get it, thanks!" Peter interjected then, on the spur of the mo**m**ent, he went through the window.

**Blue Verse. The Federal Building. Twenty seven hours later.**

Broyles was seemingly in the middle of having some important conversation when Olivia entered his office. Startled, she uttered an apology and hurried out.

"Agent Dunham!" Broyles stopped her, "Take a seat. This is FBI Agent Max Zepplin. I'd like you to meet him. Agent Max, this is Agent Dunham I told you of."

"It's nice to meet you Agent Dunham." Agent Max offered.

"It's nice to meet you too Agent Max." Olivia greeted. Agent Max smiled. He was proximately Charlie's age, blond headed, and has some freckles on his face. For some reason, she thought she'd seen the man in front of her somewhere.

"He will be assisting the Fringe Division. Agent Charlie's death must have issued a heavy burden on your shoulders. My apologies, I hadn't noticed that until now." Broyles added.

Things have been so odd. Perhaps it was why Olivia herself hadn't really paid much attention to the severity of that burden, until lately…

_Loneliness sucks. _

"Thank you, sir." She nodded.

Broyles was about to say something when his phone rung. He picked it up. Olivia could see his expression changing from neutral to shocked. As the call ended, she could read unhappiness all over his face.

"Bad news." He sighed. _ Obviously._

"It was Nina. She said that all the information they have on the devise Dr Bishop had spoken of has been compromised. The devise itself is stolen. Whoever did this had used clearance to access the data."

Olivia was too shocked to voice something. Bad news are bad, no matter how you prepare yourself for them. They would need time to recover what was lost, to start from the beginning. But innocent people would still die.

Agent Max queried, "A mole?"

"Apparently," Broyles replied. "I'm thinking about our shapeshifters' killer." He concluded, addressing Olivia.

_No!_

"No!" Olivia instinctively spat. She was certain that the shapshifter's killer was another person. A person she knew…

Broyles looked startled; her answer must have given her inner mystification away. "Excuse me?" he asked.

Thankfully, Agent Max had another suggestion, "Walternate, maybe?" Not the one Olivia wanted to hear actually. "No," She repeated, this time she was determined, "We shouldn't think the way the other side did."

"I agree," Broyles said. "Anyway, Nina assured me that they are still running their investigations." He shifted his position and cleared his throat, "Speaking of Walternate, if you believe it, we've received an apology from him, seemingly, he realized that it won't do us any good to send a virus that'll abort three weeks of attempts to have their cooperation."

"So, they couldn't identify who did it?" Asked Olivia, feeling a bit eased for Walternate finally decided to act plausibly.

"No, He said he'll send an ambassador to assist with the work here, after the latest developments, he has much to do on the other side, recovering the lost data will take at least another three weeks, they're working on it. He will be helping Dr Bishop with his researches though."

"Alright, then." Olivia nodded, hoping that the new ambassador wouldn't be the person she had in mind, "We should tell him about Massive Dynamic's infiltration." _Which is a bigger problem._ Walter needed th**a**t devise…

**Blue Verse. An area near Kramer Manufacturing. Chelsea, Massachusetts. Hours later.**

Peter felt depleted. He'd taken a long trip from New York -just to be near the Harvard lab- and had been walking for hours. He'd decided to look for someone that doesn't have any relation with the Fringe team, he found many, only to wonder why find them in the first place. He had to talk to someone. He needed to know more about the Observers, needed something he didn't know what it was yet. Maybe he needed a miracle.

He'd discovered, from his long promenade, that he could touch things, sense them. The air brushes his skin as if he was really there. He would lift stuff for moments until somebody would look at his direction, horrified. He'd immediately drop them recalling that, yeah, nobody could see him.

He met people. He watched the sky, the sun, and things he'd been keen to glimpse for weeks, things that spoke of life. It didn't make him happy.

He would write a small note and send it to Olivia or Walter, he would warn them. Only he couldn't. September had given him a good reason why he couldn't.

He was about to sit for a little while when someone caught his attention. A guy was glaring at him. Peter took a few steps to the side to make sure it was only some crazy dude staring at the wall behind him. That wasn't the case. The dude could actually see him.

"Hey, You!" The guy shouted.

Peter narrowed his eyes, that silhouette looked familiar. _Screw the familiarities, lately._ The guy quickly stomped towards him. And…

Shit!

Peter Definitely knows him!

FUCK!

Peter would never forget him!

If January was the last person Peter had expected to meet again, this guy was definitely the last person Peter had ever wanted to see again.

Peter started running. He stopped himself after he took two big steps… _my life is getti**n**g better and better._

_TBC..._

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><p>So, someone can see peter, and there is a mole in the fringe team...<p>

I hope you enjoyed, please review, feedback is very appreciated, actually it helps a lot.

Note: The Glyph for this chapter is a proper noun.


	6. My Enemy's brother

**CHAPITRE VI**

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><p><em>"The best things in life are unexpected - because there were no expectations."-Eli Khamarov<em>

**Red Verse. Secretary's office. Liberty Island. Hours later.**

"You've asked to see me, Sir." Olivia Dunham declared. She coiled her lips and looked away, because she didn't feel like having a discussion with the man who had tricked her.

She'd taken him for the man who would save their dying universe. She'd trusted him, believed every single word he'd been telling her. She'd never doubted his means. Because she'd believed he was that noble protector she'd always pictured in her dreams. She'd followed orders, because she hadn't expected that Mr Secretary wastes his time in finding how to destroy other universe**s**.

She'd been thinking more than usual and sleeping less than ever. Lincoln had told her that he'd found a baby and decided to adopt him. She'd thought about adoption too, for having babies was impossible task in her case. Maybe she needed to hurry with that decision, because lately she'd been dreaming about having a baby, and it hurt her. She'd been feeling empty after Frank had left, and that hurt too.

She took lives, and stole others. There was no doubt she was way better that her double, she believed that much after their first face off, but no one should deserve what she had done to her. It was wrong. She could feel it was, now that she'd given it a thought.

She'd been released from the prison two days prior, but she was still feeling alone, missing something. Maybe, she'd never find that 'something'... Maybe she doesn't deserve it. Remorse is a bitch.

"Yes, Agent Dunham. I believe it is time we end this mild disagreement." The Secretary uttered, putting on his usual mask of seriousness.

_Mild disagreement?_ Her anger begun surging, "Mr Secretary-"

"I have agreed to work with the other universe. I'm putting the safety of both universes above my best interests now. Brandon doesn't agree. I need your assistance. I need a voice of reason. I need you Agent Dunham."

Olivia was instantly shocked. This was the first time she'd heard the man talking that way, much less asking for her help.

Yes, she would help. If it would make that feeling of guilt go away, she'd offer her life too, knowing she'd done it for the right purpose this time.

She remained silent, because she was still shocked. The Secretary went on, "Our information has been compromised. The data the other side possesses had also been stolen. Agent Lee and Agent Charlie would take care of the investigations here. You have a good knowledge about the other universe. I want you to work with their agent Dunham. I want you to be our ambassador over there. They have assured me you'd be safe."

Olivia was still stunned. Fine, she would work with the other Olivia too, because the Secretary was surely working with the man he loathed his whole life, and the Secretary isn't better than she is.

The Secretary maintained his reciting, "We don't have much time. An unknown threat, perhaps a third universe, is trying to stop us. It's a deal of survival, Agent Dunham, take it or leave i**t**."

The man had actually changed. Survival…

**Blue Verse. An area near Kramer Manufacturing. Chelsea, Massachusetts.**

Peter stopped. Mosely was able to see him? How?

Why does it have to be Mosely? His nose hurt at the memory. Mosely **c**ame closer and shot Peter a questioning look, "What's up with you dude, why run?"

The man who'd kidnapped and enjoyed torturing him for some stupid beacon he'd never known what it was for, was now addressing him like nothing had ever happened. Peter was absolutely puzzled he couldn't decide what to say, "I… What?"

"What do you mean 'what'?"

"You are…" _still alive…_ "You don't…" _remember me… _Countless queries ran through Peter's mind.

Mosely's dead; Olivia had briefed him about everything. How he'd committed a double homicide in Seattle for the sake of a wicked cylinder. How he'd tortured many people before he'd abducted Peter. How she'd shot him and watched the beacon bury itself deep underground.

"WHAT? … Come on! Talk it out, it's free!" Mosely yelled, and, God, his voice reminded Peter of that night.

"You can see me?" Peter asked, snapping out of his momentary confusion.

Mosely seemed angrily surprised, "What? How stupid! Of course I can see you!" His expression quickly turned from confused to unreservedly bewildered, "Wait, wait… You're…" _Shit he remembered…_ "You're one of them!" He shouted with a scary smile.

Peter blinked twice, "One of what?"

"The Banshees, you're a Banshee!"

Peter raised an eyebrow, "I'm pretty sure I'm not." _What does he mean a 'banshee'?_

"Yes you are! It's why you're sure no one can see you!"

Peter stared at him, confused. It felt thick, but he had to ask, "Okay, what's a Banshee?"

"You don't know?" Mosely's face looked as if he was expecting Peter to know that a cat, is a cat.

"I might have a different meaning in mind."

"You're a consciousness, a prisoner. Your physical body is somewhere else. Who has you? The watchers?"

Mosely had just summed about the hard part of Peter's woe. Peter's eyes widened, he shut them tight and inhaled violently. At this point, reality started in on seeming alien to him, and he begun doubting that it's all but a manifestation of his bushed brain. Soon, Mosely's words hit him back swiftly. _The watchers? as in Observers? _January had already used that word. "The watchers, you mean the Observers? You know them?"

"Is that a joke? Our enemies of all time? Yeah, I think I know them. So, what, they let you use the DW? How so?"

"The Dissipation Window? How do you know all this?" Peter blurted. This sounded so real, yet so coincidental…

"How do we know something we've invented, Huh, it's ours, the DW. We use it in prisons. The watchers stole it like the thieves they are." Mosely hissed, a shade of bitterness enveloped his face. His look quickly shifted to neutral again, "So, they arrested you or something?" He enquired, before his eyebrows knocked suddenly. He narrowed his eyes and dropped his jaw as utter dread drew on every bit of his feature, "OMG! Don't tell me you are…?"

Peter squinted at him, whoever are those people Mosely's proudly talking about, Peter needed their help. They invented the DW. They obviously know about the Observers more than he does. And, most importantly, they hate them as much as he does. _Maybe less._ "Okay, I need you to believe what I have to say, because whoever you are, I'm gonna need your help." he demanded.

"Oh! No … No, no, no ..." Mosely seemed utterly freaked out the moment Peter had told him that the Observers had taken him and allowed him to use the DW. Did this Mosely know about the Observers' plan?

"What?"

"Don't tell me you're that man?" _Mosely definitely knows._

"Who can power the machine? Yeah." Peter admitted, sighing. He'd never figured how exactlt must he feel about this ability until lately. Shame. The embarrassment that overwhelmed him at this very moment demonstrated it wildly.

Mose**l**y looked infuriated. "FUCK!"

"I feel the same."

"No! You son of a bitch! We're all doomed!"

"I know, they've told me every detail. You've gotta shut up whining, and we've gotta do something."

"I can't believe you got yourself caught! Fuck you!"

"I honestly didn't catch up with it until it already happened; I just disappeared."

"Shit!" Mosely squeaked as he turned away, yanked off his black hat, and smashed it hard it sent dust flying away. He snorted irately as he appended, "I must inform the others!"

"The others?"

"Yeah, my people on the other universe."

"You think they can help us?"

"I never said so. I must inform them for they should be ready to accept death. We're all screwed chap!"

"How encouraging, thanks!" Peter sneered, angrily. Big-mouthed people usually annoy Peter, this Mosely was driving him crazy, "Okay, here is the thing, I don't have time to bother _my consciousness_ convincing you, you're not going anywhere, you're gonna help me find out more about those Observers or watchers or whatever you call them. Otherwise I don't even think you're allowed to be on our universe since you don't belong here, so..."

Shades of guilt played momentarily on Mosely's feature, "I know we should do something, I never give up. Wait, are you threatening me?"

"I'm asking for your help." Peter sighed, crossing his arms, "You can start by telling me what you know about the watchers."

"I know that they suck, and I know that I hate them."

"I meant something of v**a**lue!"

"Well, a bunch of bald guys that have unimaginable abilities," Mosely begun. Peter rolled his eyes. Mosely looked like he understood how chatterbox he sounded, "Alright, we know nothing about them, which is why they beat us all the time. Listen, what about we rescue you?"

Peter could tell from his long conning experience that Mosely was prevaricating. If the man was entirely telling the truth, he should be seriously freaked out. If not, the Observers are still his enemies. Either way, Peter didn't have an army of allies offering to help him, so he decided to trust him. "I don't think it is gonna be a good idea, they're too many, too gifted, and they shouldn't notice we're trying something. Besides, I bet they'll know it before we even locate the wormhole." He reasoned, hating how logical his words sounded. Funny how he'd just proved the impossibility of his own rescue.

"Okay, so what do you suggest?"

"I don't know yet. You obviously have a life-size history with them. You must know someone who can tell us more. What are you doing here by the way, in this universe, in this place specifically?" Well, of course Peter had to ask. You don't go hanging around on other realities for nothing.

"Me? I come here so often, but this time, I came to avenge the death of my brother. I've been told that he's been in this place." He stated. Bells chimed in Peter's mind with each letter Mosely had just pronounced. _His brother? Death? Avenge?..._

"Your brother?"

"Yeah, my twin brother John, he's been assassinated in this universe while on a mission against the watchers. Killing another being is totally forbidden among our laws, but the government allowed me to get my retribution; I'll find my brother's murderers, and I'll show them stars on a sunny day."

Peter's heart sunk.

Thoughts quickly began connecting with each other in a painful pattern inside his head. He swallowed hard. This guy is the twin brother of that murderer, John Mosely, who'd been killed by… _OMG, Olivia! …_ Avenge h**i**s brother?

Mosely didn't have to know all this, because Mosely would die before he'd touch Olivia, and Peter needed Mosely. "Right, Hm, … Good... luck with that." Peter muttered as something caught his attention. Something Mosely had just blurted, "So, missions against watchers?" he asked.

"Yeah, we steal some batteries they protect. Call it, we toy around. Not much to do, really."

_The cylinders; _they call them batteries. Okay, so, _Not much to do?_ Why? Many questions asked themselves annoyingly, so Peter had to voice some of them, "How did you even know about our universe, I mean who are you, actually? And, why care about the Observers' plan, when you have your own universe already? It's not like the _watchers_ are gonna destroy more than two parallel unive**r**ses."

"Are you kidding? Of course we'd care," Mosely was obviously trying to say something before he'd stopped himself.

"What, long story?"

"We used to be a very, very highly developed people. Our minds are brilliant in a way that allows us to invent remarkable things, we were technologically advanced. Until…" he gritted his teeth Peter could hear them chatter in the quietness of the area. Mosely shut his eyes next, swallowing as sadness engulfed his expression, "Until, one day, the watchers discovered our universe." Peter could tell that the man was finding it hard to relive his memories, "They wiped out almost everyone. We've lost everything. Our universe is dying too, its state is even worse then you parallel universe's. We have nothing left. So, we work, with some people on your universe and... Uh... They provide us food and first materials, we invent the devises they need. Not much of a life, but... Um... We live. And, we are happy."

"I understand." Peter said and he meant it. If anything, it made him loath the Observers even more, more than he'd thought possible.

"My name is David by the way." Mosely sighed. He offered a smile too, "David Mosely."

"I'm Peter Bishop, just in case you decided to call me a banshee again." Peter forced a grin as he added, "It's nice to meet you David."

"Same here, Peter Bishop!"

Hope rushed through Peter. "So, I call this my last clash, you call it retribution."

"Yeah, my two retributions." Peter tensed. _Olivia_... His instantaneous moment of comfort swiftly ended.

David didn't know about Olivia, not yet, so Peter hoped the man would be too busy helping him save the universe instead. "Oh, no!" Mosely cursed out. Peter froze, "What is it?" he asked, and, from the corner of his eyes, he could see a bald guy watching them. Peter's breathing clogged.

The Observer came clos**e**r.

_Shit!_ Were they following him? How the hell did they know his whereabouts?

He knew it was futile, but for the second time that day, Peter felt like running.

**Blue Verse. The Lab. **

Astrid amassed the remains of the glass bottle Walter had just broken whilst another episode of his usual breakdowns. She sat on the nearest chair, exhausted. Walter was having one of those bad days. She'd grown familiar with the way he'd act. It made her even worried that he'd never go back to the way he was before he'd met Walternate, and that she'd never be able to share those happy moments with him again. It frightened her, because it could be meaning that the old Walter is gone for good.

She had gone to his house the day before, to help clean things up, as usual. She'd found him in the closet, crying, grieving over something. He'd told her that he'd found a silver coin in the pocket of one of his trousers, and he couldn't remember who had given it to him. He'd said that the coin is important. So important he felt hopeless he couldn't remember anything about it. Her heart had smashed for Walter, the way it does everyday. The coin was apparently so significant for him. She almost knew how it felt like, because it was somehow significant for her, too.

The lab is home, wherein, She'd found peace and happiness. She'd found that warmness family provides. She'd found the father Walter presents. She loves Walter. She cannot help him get over his great sadness. She felt useless. She felt weird too, because the moment Walter had changed, she'd badly wished that she had an older brother. Astrid cried three times last week. She'd hoped that her imaginary brother would have been there to wipe away those tears.

"Aspro!" Walter's croak startled her, "I am so sorry. I… I cannot define what's happening to me… Astr-" His voice wrecked and he started weeping. His face reddened while shades of desperation and gloom ran through it. His lips quivered as he added, "F-Forgive me. Please!"

Astrid's heart broke. Her eyes watered, because she felt as if something had just shattered within her. She'd die before she'd blame Walter over this. And she needed him to know that. "Walter, it's not your fault. I know this is a stressed point in time. We're all gonna get over it. I promise…" She didn't finish because she decided to take Walter in a big, long hug instead. Words drew themselves away as he tightened his arms around her and cried some more.

Walter broke the hug because he seemed surprised that she, too, was crying.

"It's my entire fault." He gasped.

A knit knocked up at the back of her throat. She swallowed as a tear burned itself down her cheek. "No, Walter, It's not. Please don't say that again."

"When you were out, Agent Dunham called. She told me that… They've lost the devise we need." Walter notified, bitterly. "I was so close, Astro…"

Her jaw dropped involuntarily. She brought her hand to her mouth in extreme fright when Olivia's voice called, "Walter, Astrid. Can I come in?"

_Why would Olivia ask for permission?_

Walter's face showed utter surprise, so she turned her head, suspicious thoughts were already formulating in**s**ide it.

"Fauxlivia!" Walter muttered.

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><p><strong>Amy, <strong>hey! well, the first thing that got to my head about this story's plot was the resolution I'm going to suggest but I can't tell the name of the episode from which I was inspired because I'm afraid it would spoile things, though at some point in the story, I needed some adjuvants like someone who knows information about observers, thus I chose to include Colonel Raymond. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	7. Tin Man

**Amy**, I'm glad you liked it, and thanks again, there are more surprises to come, I hope you enjoy where I'm taking this!

**oconnellaboo**, thanks for reviewing, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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><p><strong>CHAPITRE VII<strong>

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><p><em>"Good for the body is the work of the body, good for the soul the work of the soul, and good for either the work of the other." - Henry David Thoreau<br>_

**Blue Verse. An area near Kramer Manufacturing. Chelsea, Massachusetts.**

"Hold still, he can't see you!" Mosely grabbed Peter's forearm firm, trying to stop him.

The observer stood for a moment. He took a pen and a small book, started writing something then resumed marching away.

"I don't understand," Peter declared; eyes wide with amazement, "How is it that you're the only one who can see me?"

"I told you, we're genius people! Ha! The stupid** j**ust walked away!" Mosely quipped, Peter kept staring at him. "Okay, Okay! I'll explain," He let out a quick chuckle before he elucidated, "They stole our Dissipation Window, but won't be able to find a way to track their prisoners, they don't believe it's possible!"

"Right. So, there is something that triggers your ability to perceive consciousnesses?" Peter asked.

"Ya!" Mosely said with an ear to ear grin, "A syringe full of a magic component. A therapy! It allows us to detect energy. We've used it so often to follow our prisoners' consciousness, especially those who wouldn't confess important stuff; we track them down until they lead us to something useful."

_Clever._ Well, to be honest, Peter hadn't doubted the level of resourcefulness of these people, because that mind-reading, torturous machine had already proved it to be really elevated. _A therapy._ It meant that Walter, Olivia, Astrid and the others could be able to see him too. _Just a therapy!_ He could finally communicate with them. Except, He cannot risk their lives, so, if anything, this new piece of information would only makes his journey more and more tormenting.

"You're actually lucky you're wearing cloths by the way." Mosely broke **o**ff.

Peter gave him a 'How nasty!' look. "What do mean?"

"Well, you appear the way you depict yourself consciously in front of people, there were some Banshee-prisoners we stumble upon wandering about, wearing… Well, their birthday suit." Mosely snickered.

"Funny." Peter remarked sarcastically, "Okay, so what do you know about the Watcher' famous plan?" He queried.

"We know that they rely on some people to heal the two parallel words for them. They'll steal the two universes, of course, to create their own dim world."

"Alright, you realize that these people can help heal your universe too, so, what if I told you that I know them, they are my family too. Would you now employ that hippocampus of yours and tell us some valuable stuff we can use?"

The information seemed to surprise David, "Really? We've been trying to find and warn them for years! Where are they? Can we contact them; make them abort the healing idea?"

"We can't." Peter frowned.

"Sure we can, why do you think we can't?"

Peter sighed, "Listen to yourself; the healing idea is the right thing to do, so, when the watchers would make them forget everything we've told them, they'll start trying to save the two universes all over again. The Watchers will figure out what we did, and our little plan will fail like crazy." _And, I don't need to tell you, but I will lose Olivia too._

"The watchers can make them forget, seriously?" David asked innocently.

"Of course, why do you think they can't remember me?"

"Shit! They can't remember you? Oh, it must be a sad way to die."

"Could you shut up unless you have something useful to say?" Peter spat out. He'd spotted shadows of sympathy on Mosely's face, it irritated him.

And, as if he'd asked Mosely to go on distressing him, Mosely added, "What? What did I say? I only commented on how family should be reunited when death is the common outcome. Your fellows don't even remember you, so it's creepy, that's all I meant."

"Thanks, you always make me feel better!" Peter shouted. _Yes, it is creepy._ He shut his eyes, hoping that David would just stop talking.

"I know a guy who could help us," David instantly spat.

Peter's eyelids snapped open even as Mosely lowered himself and picked up his hat."What?"

"Are you deaf? I said there is someone I know who can **h**elp us."

"Who?"

"Some old dude called Raymond Gordon, he'd spent his life studying the Observers, everything about them, dunno, he could be useful."

_Raymond Gordon? _The very villain who'd turned people into bombs and had them explode? "Raymond Gordon! I know this guy, Colonel Raymond Gordon, Tin man project, he'd been in Iraq!"

"Yes, Colonel Raymond Gordon, that's him, you know him? How? Ok, whatever, where is he now?"

"He's in the prison; we've arrested him two years ago."

"See, that's why I hate this universe!"

"What? Well, forgive me, but, we don't let jerks that go blowing people up hang around freely!"

"Blow people up?"

"Long story, we must find hi-" Peter stopped up, because he felt weird. Something strange was happening to him him, he could feel it. He glimpsed at his own hands and could see that they were shimmering violently, before they started to vanish, "Oh, no! What's happening?"

Mosely watched in disbelief, then he seemed to recall something, "Shit, I forgot to tell you! The watchers! ... They can pull your consciousness back whenever they want to,"

He was disappeari**n**g.

"HOW?"

"I don't know! You'll figure it out anyway, listen, I'll write my phone number on a paper and leave it under this rock, when they let you come back, contact me, ok?" Peter heard Mosely say before he sensed as if he was reliving that feeling again, that same feeling that had claimed him weeks ago, when he'd disappeared in Liberty Island.

He hated the likes of those moments…

**Blue Verse. Olivia's car. Roadway between New York and Boston.**

When it keeps getting worse, keep expecting the worst. The journey to **M**assive Dynamic was worthless. They were still running investigations. Things were pretty confused. Olivia's mind hadn't allowed her to take that much needed break she longs for whenever her head hits the pillow after each restless day. Agent Max wasn't helping either. The man had taken a long nap the second she'd started up the car, after he'd eaten like five different kinds of sandwiches. And, in the magic of it, the dude is probably thinner than she is. Her irritation was under control though, until he'd resumed snoring fifteen minutes ago. If Charlie was here, he'd take a lifetime laughing at his _new replacement_. She wanted to laugh at her memories with Charlie. She settled on smiling for laughing felt way tougher at the moment. Her tears chose to flame down her feature, so she decided crying was her best option.

The sound of her quite weeps melted with Max's steadfastly snoring drove her crazy. She quickly wiped away her cheeks, and with a hard shove, she woke up the sleeping agent.

Startled, Max asked, "WHAT! What's wr**o**ng?"

"Nothing, I almost hit another car." Her answer had been meant to sound as an excuse, but her tone cheated away uncontained anger.

They were supposed to discuss a case. Two universes were being slowly demolished. And, he was sleeping. Olivia didn't understand how could he not be responsible as much as she couldn't grasp why she'd blame him that much in the first place. Maybe because she'd felt he should sense every bit of guilt she, now, had learned to live with. Maybe because she'd felt alone, and nobody was there to ease the misery of it.

Maybe because his way of talking was a bit jerky, "Are we there yet?" He enquired, still rubbing his eyes. Well, yeah, the 'I almost hit another car' thing was a funny lie, but it's not like he knew it was, so, showing a bit interest would have been appreciated.

Her phone rung, thankfully, and she pressed the answer button hard, hoping it would drain away the anger blazing inside her.

"Dunham."

"_Agent Dunham, I know you and Agent Max are busy with the investigations, but there is a very urgent fringe case. Five people have been kidnapped in the last eight days. One of the victims has just been found, dead. Call Bishops and…"_ Broyles stopped for a while. Olivia wondered why. _"… I mean call Bishop, Dr Bishop, they'll be sending the body we found for him to examine it."_ Broyles had actually said Bishops the first time. It took her moments to realize that, for Bishops sounded more familiar. Her heart pounded suddenly, she didn't know why, so she dropped the thought, "Yes, sir. We'll be there as soon as we can." She **s**aid with a firm nod.

She was about to end the call when Broyles spoke again, _"There is something else,"_ There was a short silence, he was taking his time. _Formulating a sentence_? She took a deep breath. Just in case. "_Agent Farnsworth is analyzing the information the ambassador had brought her on the virus that had been unleashed on the other side's computers._"

"Oh, that's perfect. Sir," _The ambassador._ Olivia swallowed hard before she finished, "Is this ambassador ... Uh... someone we already know?"

"_Actually, that's what I wanted to t**e**ll you_,"

_Fauxlivia. Fauxlivia. Fauxlivia._

"_The other Olivia_." Broyles revealed. "_Fauxlivia."_ He confirmed. He didn't have to.

"Alright, sir." She couldn't hide the tone of befuddlement that showed in her voice.

**The Observers home world. Peter's Cell.**

Calmness, gray colored walls… _Painful memories…_

Peter felt his arm first, because it was throbbing. Pain echoed from it radiating through his veins and making his limbs shiver. He forced his eyelids apart as they kept weighting against his cheeks. He inhaled, carefu**l**ly, very carefully for he'd just figured it hurt.

He lifted his head, fighting back a wave of nausea that accordingly churned in his gut. He spotted September's figure glancing back at him. A sharp bloody knife hung loosely between the fingers of the Observer's left hand. The sight thwacked him as his right arm stung madly and he had to collect more effort for his head to turn back and see what was wrong with him.

His breathing unleveled as he caught glimpse of the cut that drew itself viciously on the upper side of his arm. Blood streamed in tiny rivulets drawing various lines of angry crimson on his muggy skin. He gritted his teeth, squinting back at September with mutinous fury. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE YOU SOB! Arggg! Fuck!"

September, however, maintained his usual tranquility, "We have brought back your consciousness. You are late. Do not be late again. Physical pain triggers conscious feelings. The more we inflict on the body the easier your consciousness is pulled back. Welcome back."

Peter was using his best self-control of all times. They incised his arm to bring him back. What a smart way to reconnect body with consciousness!

September cocked his head, his face stared emotionlessly as he handed Peter a piece of cloth then he left. And, Peter could see January on his usual place, sitting and staring at a single spot on the ground. Observers don't show feeling, most likely because they don't feel at all, but the kid looked frightened. _Was he obliged to witness the cutting session?_

Peter shut his eyes, his muscles protested as he used his good hand to wrap the cloth around his arm. "Son of a bitch!" He groaned quietly.

In painfully counted heartbeats, September showed up again, with a stunner on his left hand. "You cannot return back until we say so." He stated.

And pulled the trigger.

Peter saw January's staggered face. He loathed September's irksome peace. Everything abruptl**y** shimmered into blackness and he knew no more.

TBC...

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><p>I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please review!<p> 


	8. Who killed John Mosely?

**AMY, **I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. Here is a quick update, I believe it will answer some of the questions!

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><p><strong>CHAPITRE VIII<strong>

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><p><em> "I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat."<em>** - **_Winston Churchill_**  
><strong>

**The labs. Hours later.**

"I don't understand. Kidnapped means no bodies, how could I help?" Olivia heard Walter muffle as she entered the lab doo**r** with Max.

"Walter, they've already sent one of the victims, a female, she was found dead, the body is right behind you. I've already told you that, four minutes ago." Astrid gestured at a dead woman laying on a gurney as she glimpsed Olivia, "Olivia, did you find anything?"

"Nothing, the investigations are still running." Olivia answered, glancing at Walter as he pinned some papers on the big board and put down some documents before he turned his attention back to Astrid.

"Oh," Walter recalled, "Right! I remember when I gave my remarks on the dead women's small breast-"

"Walter! We have guests," Astrid snapped. The scientist squinted at Olivia, serious, Walter quickly greeted, "Hello Agent Dunham! Hello Mr!"

Agent Max smirked, "It's Max, Max Zepplin, It's nice to meet you Dr Bishop," But Walter was already gone; he went searching for something. Probably some tools to start opening the body up.

"He's been like that since Fauxlivia left," Astrid informed, never meeting Olivia's gaze. _Fauxlivia._

"What was he doing?" Olivia asked, changing the subject.

"He was looking for some old data on that devise we lost. He said that he'd hided those somewhere safe, years ago. He was a bit unfocused and very sad the whole morning, but when Fauxlivia gave us the information about the virus, he told me that we should be focused like the other side is, and He resumed studying the modifications he need**e**d."

Olivia nodded. At least, Walter had found some motivation after all they had on the devise was gone. Walter is a competent scientist. Olivia trusted him.

"Olivia, Max. There is something important I must show you." Astrid told them, she then stood in front of her laptop, and started pressing some buttons.

"What is it, Astrid?" Max queried, rubbing his eyes. _Sleepy?_

"The virus, It was a top secret project. The Tree. All information about it is stored in the FBI database. It has been initiated by high experienced engineers. The project has been aborted for unknown reasons. Whoever had stolen it has clearly permitted access to the data, and has to complete programming the virus before being able to use it."

"It must be one of the engineers," Max said.

"Exactly." Astrid agreed, "There is something else. It's practically impossible to send a Virus to the other reality."

Olivia nodded, "Someone is working on both sides." She concluded.

Astrid rose her eyebrows, "Yes, and if it's not the other side, this must be a new threat."

"A threat that can send a virus to the other side, and break into massive Dynamic without problems." Max remarked, "Our enemy must be on a high qualified scale of science, and has great deals of technological assets."

Olivia nodded, clenching her teeth. A third intelligent threat is scary to think about, much less to expect, "Okay, can you check for the last one who had used his credentials to access the data?"

"Already done that," Astrid handed Olivia a small document containing a personal photos and an address. "Charlie Silver, a very famous engineer, he downloaded all the data to his personal computer two days before the other side's computers got infected."

"This must be our mole. Thanks, Astrid!" Olivia grinned, hurrying toward the door. _Finally something we can follow._ Max followed her,** s**ighing.

**Boston streets. 24 hours later.**

Peter exhaled anxiously as he stopped pacing around a phone booth; Mr David Mosely finally decided to show up. He'd called him two hours ago, after he'd woken up in his cell, obviously, and had eaten something he hadn't been focused nor impressed to think about before he'd hurriedly walked through the DW, and took a long ride to Boston.

Mosely precipitated toward him, smiling. "Hey! Buddy, welcome back!"

"Well, your greeting would've been more appreciated if you'd just decided to show up a little earlier!" Peter complained.

"Sorry, I was a bit-" The Street was crowded, so, yeah, Mosely looked like a crazy dude yelling at an old phone booth. Shocked, perplexed or amused faces met him. He remained quiet before his mouth tingled again, and he had to continue his complaining, whispering, "-I was a bit busy saving the world while you were, what is it?-Enjoying a siesta in the Watchers' world. How is the hospitality by the way?" He scoffed, moving away as the passengers muttering and quiet ch**u**ckles grew annoying.

"Perfect, I'm sure your big mouth would like it." Peter quipped. However, he'd wished that no one, not even his most loathed _human-enemies_, would ever experience anything near what the Observers are daily putting him through. "So, saving the universe?" He asked, interestingly.

As soon as they arrived to a quiet corner, Mosely grinned far and wide. "Ya, I found our guy! Colonel Raymond," He announced, raising an eyebrow. "You can thank me now or you can wait until we get him out, you choose. Becau-"

"Thanks!" Peter interrupted. Although the word was meant to put Mosely's chatting session on the brakes, Peter had actually meant it. Mosely had just proved to be more useful than he'd first thought. "Okay, then, where is he?" He asked.

"He'd been in a prison I don't care about its name, because they soon moved him out to a mental institution; psychological disorientation of some kind." Mosely informed, taking his full time, loving every bit of it.

A mental institution. _St Clai**r**es?_

"It's called St Claires, the mental institution." Mosely added. Peter clenched his jaw, because, till the moment, everything he would encounter has to remind him of Walter or Olivia, but, St Claires in particular, reminded him of the days of his life he'd wasted away from them. "Okay," He croaked, "Are you sure, I mean, no offense but where did you get all these classified information?" Well, it wasn't like he hadn't treasured Mosely's efforts, but Peter had to ask.

"Nothing, really, just played around a bit with some unfortunate people."

Peter tensed, "Unfortunate people?" He blu**r**ted.

"Yeah, well, I probed their mind a little harshly," Mosely added_. Was he saying what I don't hope, but think he's saying?_

"I used a mind reading devise. We've invented it years ago, it's pretty much useful than any torture machine I've ever seen!" _Yeah… _

"FUCK! ARE YOU CRAZY?"

Peter couldn't believe he was somehow responsible of the torment those 'unfortunate people' had gone through, especially when he knew what it felt like to be subjected to that cursing machine. David suddenly seemed like his brother, only, it sounded as if he found nothing wrong about the whole torturing stuff.

"What? What is it? You're badly overreacting, you know that? I admit it's painful, yeah, but, don't worry, I'll never use it on you, so, you'll never know how it feels like." Mosely chuckled.

Peter was about to scream "I'VE ALREADY BEEN THERE, YOU STUPID!" but he managed to swallow it back somehow, "YOU STUPID!" He yelled.

"What? It's not like it kills them or anything! Don't worry I can't bring myself to hurt people; it's why we don't kill. Except, of course, for the murderer of my brother," He grumbled. Peter's pulse edged at Mosely's next words, "Oh, I almost forgot, You know, I did my investigations on the killer too, he works with the FBI, some Agents investigating bizarre cases, a small group, actually, so I should be able to identify him in a coupl**e** of days."

_Oh My God._ Peter stood still. He couldn't grasp what was happening. Mosely was near to finding Olivia. Mosely would kill Olivia. Peter knew he cannot allow that to happen. Peter also believed that there is always another way, "I did it." He lied.

"What?" Mosely queried.

"I killed him, your brother." Peter swallowed hard, "I shot him. I work with the FBI, He abducted me, three years ago. He torture-" It's called out of the blue. Peter hadn't't seen it coming, but he'd felt Mosely's fist as it connected with his cheekbone.

"Shit! What have you done," Peter protested, as kind as he could offer. "Oh, no!" He frowned as his nose resumed bleeding. And, it meant one thing, that thing Peter had been afraid of when he'd complained right after Mosely had hit him; The Dissipation Window was doing its job. He remembred January's warning. Small reactions_, like a nose bleed_… Peter didn't have to wait long before he'd started to disappear. Mosely just stormed away.

_Had he done the right thing? _Peter hoped so.

**Observers home world. Peter's cell.**

"I stumbled and fell on my way back." Peter groaned, answering September's little interrogation.

September didn't rea**c**t. He gazed Peter up and down, bending his head to one side.

Peter's nose had started bleeding minutes ago, so September had pulled him out, using the same technique of course. A second cut on his shoulder blade. When September left, Peter strolled toward the DW. Pain exploded with the slightest movement. He hurried. At least when he'd wander around as a consciousness, he wouldn't feel that much pain.

He was leaving his throbbing body behind. It felt like betrayal in itself.

**The second floor of an apartment. Boston.**

"Mr Charlie!" Olivia knocked the door twice and waited. Max got bored, so he reached to the lock on the door, shouting, "Mr Ch-" He didn't finish because the door was open.

Olivia shot him an alarming look as she shoved the door backwards.

"It's FBI, Mr Charlie, and we don't have time for a hide and seek fooling around!" Max raved. The agent seemed livid, almost petrified. His fingers fastened tightly around his pistol.

Olivia headed upstairs. The house seemed disturbingly quiet. The apartment's staff had confirmed that Mr Charlie was indoor.

She was about to open the bathroom's door when something clicked behind her. Alarmed, she turned around swiftly, just in time to notice a huge form launching itself on her. She lost balance and they were both smacked onto the ground with a boisterous thud. Her back ached as she twisted her hand free to grab the gun that laid ounces away from her wooly eyes. The attacker gathered himself quickly. She identified him as Mr Charlie Sliver as he lifted his head just in time to reach his hand and stop hers from reaching the weapon. He was quick and strong. She tried to twist free but to no avail. She brought her knee up hastily in a succeeded attempt to thwack his belly, only, he didn't react at all. She tried twice more, but he decided to grab her throat and start squeezing hard. He had no intention of killing her apparently, because she knew he could easily reach for the gun and pull the trigger, full stop. He needed some**t**hing…

"Who sent you?" He yelled, frantically. Her vision blurred even as she spotted Max putting three bullets in the big man's back. The man loosened his grip, and she shut her eyes shoving blessed air back into her lungs as they screamed in excruciating pain.

Through fading haze, she gazed Max's terrified look as he yelled, "Oh My Goodness, his blood is silver!"

"Shoot him in the head!" She screamed, but it came out as a pained croak. Thankfully, Max heard her just as the shapeshifter stood and begun strolling toward him. The attacker's dead weight dropped to the ground as a bullet penetrated his brain. Olivia twisted away. The mere movement sent her coughing and panting.

"We need to… t-talk to Walternate." She gasped. Walternate had promised to call back his army of shapeshifters a long while ago. He owed them a logic explanation.

Her phone rung, disturbing the instantaneous moment of silence. "Dunham," She answered. Her throat ached and a groan escaped her lips.

"_Olivia, are you alright?"_ Astrid asked.

"Yeah, we found Mr Charlie, he's a shapeshifter." Olivia panted out.

"_Oh!_" Astrid exclaimed, "_Uh... Olivia, Walter says there is something urgent he needs to show you_."

"Okay, I'm on my way." Olivia nodded, and ended the call. "Are you ok?" She heard Max quaver.

"I'll be fine, you?"

"I don't think so." He rasped, wiping sweat away from his forehead.

**Blue verse. The Lab. Moments later.  
><strong>

"What is it Walter?" Olivia queried as she stopped in front of the dead woman.

Walter put the scalpel he was holding on the nearest table, and grabbed a spoon and a container full of strawberry milkshake.

"Hmm…" He savored a mouthful of the food, and started walking the opposite d**i**rection.

"Walter!" Olivia called again. He squinted at her, "Oh! Agent Dunham! How long have you been there?"

"Walter, you said there is something important," She informed.

"Yes! ... Hm... This poor lady has been kidnapped." He grimaced, as if he was trying to focus again, "I found a substance in her blood, it's responsible for memories,"

"Walter, you're not telling me that…?" Olivia's pulse raced.

"Yes, Agent Dunham, it's something they injected her with, they wanted to convince her that she was someone else, much like they did to you on the other side!"

Olivia shut her eyes, inhaled unevenly, and asked, "You think it's what killed her?"

"No, I think the cause of death is a mistake, something they overlooked!" Walter informed, "But, I didn't!" he added, rising his eyebrows, excited. "The hippocampus, the most important part of our body, it is responsible for memories. This lady had an already affected hippocampus."

"She was sick?"

"Alzheimer!" He confirmed, squinting back at the dead woman, a look of sympathy formed on his feature, "Memory treasures identity. Humans live intact or lost, whole or deficient. Torment is the phase in between. It's when one watches the mind drift away, each part splinters into nothingness taking the remains of a shattered heart within." Walter muttered. His words were sharp. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, just before he composed himself and went on explaining, "They were forcing memories on her hippocampus, which was already suffering from a second degree of infection because of the disease, and it originated complications in her brain that caused severe reactions, hence, she died with a heart attack. Poor dear."

Olivia and Max stared at Walter who resumed eating for a moment, before they gazed at each other, "Walternate." Olivia muttered.

**Grave. Boston.**

Mosely sat on a rock beside his brother's grave. Peter took a few steps forward, quietly.

He'd been trying to contact him for a long while now. Mosely wouldn't answer any of his calls. So, after giving it some thought, Peter figured this was the plausible place David would choose to be around. "Hm… Hey!" He tried, "Look, I… Uh... I know I should've told you sooner... I understand how you must be feeling, I really do..."

"Go to hell," Mosely muttered, crossing his fingers and circling his thumbs around each other in obvious sign of nervousness.

Peter inhaled, tensely, "It was a Fringe case... You said that killing people is forbidden among your laws-"

"-You believe this stupid talk would save you from me?" Mosely cut him short. He then stood up and hobbled toward him.

Peter remained neutral. "No, this stupid talk was meant to tell you that your brother had committed a double homicide before he'd came around to Boston killing and torturing people. Yes, I should have told you that, but it doesn't mean I would regret what I had to do, I was protecting myself."

Mosely braked, two feet away from Peter, frantically breathing. He knocked his brow and blinked furiously at Peter's words. His eyes alone displayed downright shock and momentary disbelief. "BULLSHIT!" He yelled, grabbing Peter from the collar of his shirt. "My brother was an honorable man! Don't you fucking speak about him this way!" Mosely yanked him twice before he shoved him back free. Peter hung about gazing the fumi**n**g man as he made his way back to his brother's grave, kicking tiny rocks and sheer earth out of the way.

"He was searching for the cylinder," Peter begun, "He killed innocent people. The homicides have been committed in Seattle, I'm certain you can make sure of it yourself." This time, Mosely didn't react. He kept staring somewhere, and, from the look on his eyes, Peter could tell that he was confused. So, Peter decided to try again, "You have no idea how it feels like to have two wires inserted up your nose while innumerable excruciating waves of electricity burn out your brain nerves over and over."

Mosely shot him a quick glance, but didn't respond. So far so good, "You said you can't bring yourself to hurt people. Well, excuse me but I think you people do that in more than one way." He bellowed, taking more steps forward, "I mean who gave you the right to treat people that way?"

Mosely, the blabbermouth; had just proved he could keep quiet for more than two minutes. Peter was getting tired of wasting more time, justifying why is it that an assassin like John Mosely had to die three years ago."Listen," He sighed, "All of this doesn't matter now. You can-"

"-Is it true that my brother had dared to end someone's life?" Mosely cut him short. The question surprised Peter. Mosely seemed utterly shocked by his brother's acts, but he hadn't been letting a lot of it to show on his face, until now.

"More than one, yes." Peter replied, rising his eyebrows.

"They won't let me avenge him in that case." Mosely muttered, quietly, "He is a sinner."

Peter let a breath he never thought he was holding, "Okay, so what… have you decided?"

"Shut up!" Mosely yelled. He stood up hastily, "When this is all over, you're gonna pay for this, I promise." He rasped out, rising a finger toward Peter's direction.

"Well, if I'm still around and breathing by then, feel free to do whatever you want." Peter suggested, "Okay, let's do this!"

"Fine, I brought my stunner. And, don't worry it doesn't hurt,"

"Good. So, we storm in, we get Gordon, we get out." Peter spluttered.

Mosely nodded, "Let's **g**o!"

TBC...

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><p><strong>I apologize for the slow developping of the Fringe team story, I had to include many details that I promise will be needed in the future and because, at some point, there will be some interactions with Peter's storyline. So I hope it wasn't boring, and that you're enjoying it. Plz review.<br>**


	9. The Bishops

I'm very happy to announce –and you might notice the changes- that, from this chapter ahead, my writing will be Beta-ed, by the sweetest beta reader ever, **Uroboros75** whom I would like to properly thank. **Uroboros75** had really helped me so much. Especially because it was a bit hard for me to appropriately explain some things using the right words and expressions. A hell of a great job was done! And special thanks to my Beta reader **Uroboros75**!

I apologize for my mistakes in early chapters. And I promise that things would be well clarified from now on!

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><p><strong>Amy,<strong> Peter had to take the chance because, aside from wanting to protect Olivia, if Mosely killed her, the Observers might notice something was wrong. Thank you so much for sticking up with the story! your detailed reviews always make me happy! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Uroboros75,** Thank you so much for reviewing and beta-ing my story! I hope you're enjoying this!

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><p><strong>CHAPITRE IX<strong>

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><p><em>"What is the opposite of two? A lonely me, a lonely you." -Richard Wilbur<em>

**Blueverse. Saint-Claire's Hospital. Boston.**

Peter and Mosley stood out near the mental institution's main entrance. Both remained silent, trying to figure out how to infiltrate the Patient Quarters and reach Gordon.

"Alright," Mosley murmured, crossing his arms. "What now?"

David still couldn't get over the fact that he was helping the man who killed his brother; but Mosley had always thought of himself as a good man, and a good man does what's best for everyone. He'd cooperate and help Peter save their universes, he decided. Otherwise, they were all going to die; though they were probably all going to die trying to save the world anyway. Better to go out with a bang, he figured.

Besides, focusing on breaking Gordon out prevented him from dwelling on the revelation of the identity of his brother's murderer.

Peter stared into the distance, and then turned to Mosley to answer.

"Hey, I'm invisible, remember?" said Peter, smirking.

"Right, you're a Banshee!" agreed Mosley, feeling kind of dumb. His smile then dimmed as he thought the idea through. "But that's the problem. While you may be invisible, Gordon isn't. How do you plan on sneaking him out of there without getting caught?"

"That's where you come in," said Peter."I'll walk in through the front door, then I'll snatch the keys off a guard or something. After that, I'll see if I can open another door out back. I'll come to get you, then we'll sneak in through the back door."

"Sounds like a plan," said Mosley. "But if they catch me…"

"I'm pretty sure no one's going to catch you as long as you have that big-ass stunner of yours," Peter quipped, though the glint of sadness he always tries to hide seeped through a little. "Anyway, if ever you're caught and they arrest you, I'll break you out in no time."

"Really?" said Mosley in surprise. "You'd do that?"

"Course I would," replied Peter. "What do you think?"

"Thanks," Mosley said, caught off guard. "I guess."

David had encountered various types of people in his lifetime, but he had never met anyone who would consider breaking out the very man who longed to kill him out of prison. Mosley knew how valuable he was to him, so Peter's response was understandable; but still, there was something about the guy that he found admirable.

He wondered whether Peter was being reckless and stupid, since anyone else would have chosen to stay with the Watchers, enjoy their last days, surrender to an inevitable fate and never be sad about it; for there are things one can't change, no matter how hard they try. However, there was always this faint flash of hope in Peter's tone whenever he spoke. It was then he realized that Peter Bishop didn't talk much about himself; Mosley wondered what really drove the man.

"No problem," said Peter.

"Hey, don't go thinking that this makes you a better person," reproached Mosley. "Getting caught is not that big a deal. Though freedom is a thousand times better than captivity, let me tell you. It's kind of nice not having to worry about being a prisoner, deprived from… things, special things. You know, places, people. And even when you're at the mercy of your captors, it's reassuring to know that there's something waiting back outside for you."

He took a deep breath before continuing.

"Or someone…" he mumbled.

His mouth always seemed to short-circuit when it came to revealing personal things**; **it often got him into otherwise avoidable conflicts and misunderstandings.

"Yeah," Peter said softly. "It's horrible."

Sorrow etched itself on Peter's face. Mosley was surprised; how could a man feel horrible about returning to the people he loves? Before he could voice his next thought, Peter caught himself, seemingly realizing what he said, and for the first time since they've met, he seemed agitated, almost panicked.

"No, no! I meant the opposite is horrible," said Peter in haste. "That's right, yeah. Uh, I mean, you're right, being free is _great._"

It was the non-specific response that made Mosley realize what Peter had meant by 'horrible', and how harsh his words must have sounded to a man who hadn't been permitted to communicate with his beloved ones for God knows how long, beloved ones Peter might not ever be able to interact in any meaningful way with again. David shot the man a look that spoke of guilt, and in some parts sympathy.

"Yup, just fantastic," Peter finished just as he regained his composure. "Alright, enough standing around. Let's go."

Something about Peter's tone puzzled David, and in moments, a wide grin plastered itself on his face.

"Oh, I know what's giving you so much trouble!" he said knowingly.

"What?" said Peter. "What are you talking about?"

"You've got yourself a special lady friend, don't you!"

"Whoa, hold on a sec –"

"Hey, no need to get all upset, man," interrupted Mosley. "I totally understand where you're coming from. I mean, I'm in a relationship too, believe it or not. Her name's Sara. She's a nice girl. You know, smart, tall, dead sexy. Anyway, I promised her I'd be back as soon as I killed…" David swallowed a rising bitterness as he completed the rest of the sentence "...You."

The way he felt as he finished the line made him realize that he probably would never be able to kill Peter. Being stubborn was something he always loved about himself, but as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't deny that he would have done the same thing Peter did if ever he came face to face with a dangerous criminal.

His breath caught suddenly; he just called his brother a criminal. Sara, on the other hand, made him forget everything but her captivating smile. She didn't seem to love him as deeply as he loved her, which disappointed him, but still...

"...I feel like I'm obliged to go back for her," voiced Mosley. "You know, I'd give everything just to see her again. Love can be hard at times, but it isn't all that bad. It gives you something to hold on to and gives a man a sense of purpose and direction in life."

"Are you done?" said Peter suddenly.

Mosely stared at his partner blankly. He was too busy thinking to himself – or should he say, thinking aloud – that he had almost forgotten about their impending mission.

"Good," Peter declared. "Let's go."

The mission was proving to be quite enjoyable, much to Mosley's surprise, especially due to the action he was able to indulge in. He went stunning people with his weapon left and right. Peter complained a couple of times about Mosley's unnecessarily cruel behaviour, but he seemed to have accepted it after Mosley had insisted that it was safer to knock out any witnesses to reduce the risk of alerts. So they traversed the corridors, stunning anything that moved, Peter alerting Mosley of any individuals he spotted. Peter even asked him to stun a man named Sumner. Mosley gladly obliged, of course, but when he asked why Peter wanted to stun Sumner in particular, Peter did what he does best; he changed the subject.

No significant obstacles presented themselves; at least not until they brought a disturbingly calm and silent Raymond Gordon out of his room and shepherded out of the hospital.

Once the trio found their way outside, Peter spotted a deranged looking man walking onto the street. The man didn't seem to be completely aware of his surroundings, and the truck that was coming straight for him wasn't slowing down.

"Hey, you!" yelled Peter. "Watch out!"

But his cries were to no avail.

The three of them in horror as the man's body as crushed under the moving vehicle.

"I knew that man," said Gordon absent-mindedly. "His name was Jonah. Nice fellow. Loved checkers."

_So he's a patient at Saint-Claire's?_

Mosley thought that strange. Jonah shouldn't be out here, because the staff (at least, those he didn't incapacitate) would have noticed the crazy man walking around where he wasn't supposed to.

Unless...

_Interference_!

The thought struck him hard.

"You idiot!" Mosley uttered to a shocked Peter.

"What?"

"Inside the building, when we were walking around, you helped me unlock a bunch of doors."

"So what?"

"You weren't supposed to do that; in fact, you're not even supposed to be here at all. Don't you see? You set up a chain reaction that led up to that guy's death! By God, you're like a Watcher now! You're here, but you're not _really _here! It makes sense."

"Don't tell me _I_ caused this!" said Peter, somewhat appalled.

"Of course you did!" berated Mosley. "Listen, there's a natural course of events that is supposed to unfold. By being here, you're interfering with that process, because you weren't supposed to be part of that course of events to begin with."

"What course of events?" asked Peter, still mystified as to how he had any part in Jonah's demise.

But Mosley didn't tell Peter that the victim was a patient and that he managed to sneak out the doors Peter left unlocked; not only because Peter seemed pretty convinced that he'd just committed a horrible crime, but because Peter disappeared right before Mosley had the chance to say anything else.

**Observers home world. Peter's Cell.**

Hurt.

Peter got used to waking up in pain in that bland and unpleasant room, September carefully watching over him. His heart leaped chillingly as he begun to sense the ache in his limbs. He snapped his eyes open, and his vision reddened as anger amplified within him in immeasurable waves with every heartbeat. He was tired of being responsible for bad things without meaning to. Adrenaline kicked in, and he launched himself at September, as futile an effort it might be.

He knew that the gifted no-brow man would be able to foresee his ever move. He knew that his fuming fist would never succeed in connecting with that smooth, bald head of a target. But even so, he rushed forward, hoping to sense some skin being ripped under his knuckles. September wasn't surprised by Peter's sudden ploy, and even if he actually was, his neutral face didn't betray any emotion. The Watcher simply anticipated and parried Peter's every move. He never reciprocated Peter's attacks, for he had no intention of harming him. The battering went on until the last of Peter's strength left him. His onslaught had proved to be unsuccessful, but at least he was able to vent some of his anger and frustration.

Peter stepped back in submission. Arms numb, he let his limbs fall to his side, shuffling on his feet.

"Who the hell are you?"

He shut his eyes, panting, hating how defeated he sounded.

Anger.

Peter's blood boiled as he became aware of September turning around to leave the room. He curled up his hand into a fist once more just as the Observer spun around, anticipating his move. Peter didn't stop, though, continuing to stretch his arm forward. But due to ignoring the pain from the cuts, his hand betrayed him before he could reach any farther, and it dropped limply to one side. September was still moving towards him. Instinct kicked in fast. And, in a blink of an eye, he raised his knee up, protecting his now defenceless body. To his surprise, he realized that his huddled leg somehow managed to connect with September's abdomen. To September shared his moment of surprise, the Observer's hand grasping at nothing after he launched it to block Peter's first attack. _What just happened? _September failed to expect his last move. The Wacther's calculations were incorrect. _Was it even possible?_

Satisfaction_._

September resumed studying his prisoner up and down, probably asking the same questions. Peter blinked twice; if only Walter was there to offer theories on what had just occurred.

September soon ended his period of complacency. A sense of triumph overwhelmed Peter when he thought he saw a shade of anger momentarily pass over the Observer's face. There must have been a reason for September's error in judgement; but Peter decided that he would ponder the matter at a later time, when the mind-probing Watcher was long gone. For now, he would revel in the proof of his captor's fallibility, something that reignited the sense of hope that had all but died at that point.

The Observers may be supremely powerful, but they are definitely not invincible.

Peter savoured his small victory for a few more moments.

Then September's stunner showed up, and darkness engulfed the world.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he re-emerged into consciousness. In the time that he was knocked out, Mosley had no doubt some progress on the other side of the DW, where time runs in a faster pace; so he figured he was out for too long.

January was watching him, as usual. His face was showing concern. Peter actually liked the kid. He was an Observer because he shares their form, but he was very human in every other way.

"Hey," Peter greeted in a stifled groan.

"Hi," replied January. "I was worried about you. I guess."

"I'm fine, thanks," Peter said as he offered a reassuring gesture. January smiled. "So, why is September so pissed off? He said I shouldn't be late. Why is that? I thought he said that I'm allowed to observe my _beloved ones_ until I blow them up with the machine."

Sarcasm usually masks a situation's horrors; this time, it wasn't the case. This time, it hurt.

January's eyes illustrated something between guilt and sadness."True," he blurted. "But he has suspicions about you. He is afraid that you would find someone."

_Someone_?

"Find who?" Peter asked in barely restrained excitement.

January cracked his mouth open, then immediately stopped himself. Peter gave him some time, and just as he thought he would, the child continued.

"We have been trying to locate this individual for ages."

"Why?"

"September wants to kill him."

_A threat, then. _Peter's interest was suddenly piqued.

"What for? Does he know something about you?"

"No," said January. "It is just that he can use the Black Weapon. It is not a grave threat, but December believes we should eliminate all threats."

"You're going to wipe out two whole universes anyway," said Peter, "so whoever this guy is, he'll probably never know what he's capable of until …"

Peter needn't finish. Perhaps he couldn't.

"It has been a long time," said January, "and the Seniors believe he has moved to another universe."

There it was; the possibility of reaching this guy, who was now hiding out in some third universe, had just faded away.

"And this Black Weapon... what is it, exactly?" Peter asked.

January looked at him as if he had just asked a stupid question. Peter became even more confused.

"The Black Weapons are the weapons we use. Our guns. No one can use them but us... and the person we are looking for."

_Someone who can power an Observer's gun? _

_Shit!_

Bells rung hysterically in Peter's ears. His heart stuck in his throat.

_The threat_.

He still remembers the pulse-gun that dying observer had handed him two years ago, and how it powered itself up when he used it to kill that assassin. Peter always joked about how fabulously he could bring anything mechanical back from the dead. It had merely been a clever way to reference his proficiency in fixing machines. Until now….

The Observers were blind; they've been searching for someone they've been keeping a close eye on for years.

More specifically, they were looking for someone currently stuck in one of their disdainful cells. Peter thought about sharing his epiphany just to give them a headache. Perhaps September would lose his temper and kill him right then and there; but since that seemed unlikely, Peter decided to keep the knowledge for himself. For one, it would provide him the element of surprise when the time comes, since as far as an Observer's list of threats is concerned, Peter doubted his name figured anywhere on it. He glanced back at January, who was still waiting for a response.

"And how exactly do you guys know all this?" Peter asked.

"We know," he confirmed, staring at Peter hesitantly. "A long time ago, a scientist had left documents about how to build those weapons. We don't know who he is. He left them somewhere. Hid them. We found them."

January sniffed. _Found them... Meaning they stole them._

"We found out that we were able to use them," he continued. "There was some evidence that the scientist's grandchild can operate those weapons better than we can. The Seniors have been looking for this man's grandchild ever since."

It was the word 'grandchild' that caused Peter to bite his bottom lip as a bitter smile formed on his face.

_If I'm the grandchild, then the grandfather must be..._

_Robert Bishop._

However, a mere gun wouldn't be able to stop an entire nation of Observers from accomplishing their Master Plan. There was something about considering these Black Weapons a threat that had Peter interested. He felt the sudden urgent need to go to the old Harvard Lab and scurry about in search of things concerning his grandfather, Robert Bishop, a man for whom he held no particular interest until that day.

Hope.

**Liberty Island. The Bridge Room.**

Olivia sat in the chair and ran her hand through her hair twice, with the tips of her fingers resting on her forehead on the second pass as she placed her elbow on the surface of the massive round table. A stinging sensation rose in the back of her sore throat, causing her to massage the sides of her neck. However, given the troubled state of her heart and mind as of late, her efforts did absolutely nothing to ease the uncomfortable sensation. So she shut her eyes, pleading for whatever it was that insisted to perturb her spirit to simply give her a break, at least long enough so that she could breathe easy for a couple of minutes.

"Is everything alright?" Agent Max asked with a concerned look.

"I'm fine." She shifted uncomfortably, crossing her fingers. "It's just…"

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Do you need anything?"

Olivia let out a reserved, bitter laugh. Yeah, she needed something. The feeling of need ate away at her core, and had been grown so strong that it was now pure torture to keep it in check. Days grew tiresome. Not to mention the nights; they were either sleepless or filled with choking dreams, dreams of seclusion and loneliness, of a sheltering care and warm, loving touch, yet also of the coldness of a shattered heart. Dreams of someone she never knew, but must have once known. Nostalgic desire nagged at her with the particular overwhelming need she was still trying to define. Sleep finds her wanting something, and leaves her craving for it upon awakening. Each day, it grew more painful; and today, the pain was unbearable. She shook her head in answer to a puzzled Max, moisture stinging in the corners of her eyes.

"Are you sure?" he continued. "I can get you some food or water."

She inhaled stressfully. "No, it's nothing to worry about. I'm just a bit tired, is all."

She then glanced at the far door as it opened, allowing Walternate and her double to step inside the room. She didn't wait for Walternate to take his seat before addressing him.

"Mister Secretary," she began, rising from her seat, "we found the person responsible for developing the virus that attacked your systems."

She then handed him a file pertaining to Charlie Silver.

"Who is he?" he asked, maintaining a serious expression as he took his seat.

"That's what we wanted to talk to you about, sir. It turns out that Silver was a Shapeshifter."

"A Shapeshifter?" Fauxlivia asked, shooting Walternate a surprised yet condemning look.

"That's not all," continued Olivia. "We have been investigating random kidnappings that had been occurring days after the Bridge Room was created."

She politely slid Walter's autopsy results for the kidnapping victims to Walternate' direction before resuming.

"People are frequently being kidnapped and treated the same way I was treated when I was held prisoner on your side." She swallowed. "Someone is abducting them and injecting them with new memories."

As Olivia spoke, her alternate self glanced at the documents Walternate was currently reviewing. Her eyes widened in sudden understanding.

"I know these people!" she exclaimed.

"You _know _them?" Max asked, dubious.

"The five kidnapping victims," she said. "Steve Williams, Sara Malcomson. It's a Fringe case."

Walternate seemed bewildered. They exchanged a concerned look, one that sent Olivia further into frustration.

"Is there a problem?" asked Olivia.

"Lincoln and I were working on a similar fringe case," explained Fauxlivia. "It can't be a coincidence. The exact same people on our side were kidnapped as well. The only difference is that the victims on our side were all found dead a few days after their abduction."

"They killed them, all?" asked Max. "Why kidnap them in the first place, then?"

"We don't know. But that's not all."

Fauxlivia glanced sideways, seemingly unsure whether she should proceed; Walternate nodded, prompting her to continue.

"The victims were both kidnapped and killed by Shapeshifters."

It was Olivia's turn to stare in stupefaction. The abductions have been executed by Shapeshifters on both sides.

"Do you think there's a mole in our midst?" suggested Max. "I mean, someone who works under you and has been using your Shapeshifters?

"That's what we suspected at first," relayed Walternate. "But these Shapeshifters are very different than the ones under my command."

"Different?" asked Olivia. "How so?"

"Their design and programming are not the same as regular Shapeshifters. We managed to capture one of them, a dead one. Ordinarily, even when dead, one can extract information from a Shapeshifter's body. However, the information stored in this particular Shapeshifter was irretrievable; the Decoder Key wouldn't work, either. This is a new breed of Shapeshifter, one with a different design and a unique set of commands."

Olivia sighed, rubbing her forehead, but the headache wouldn't subside. "So we have a new threat on our hands."

"We believe so," the Secretary confirmed. "I'm afraid we are dealing with a new, intelligent enemy that has the technological prowess to access our most sensitive data and use our own Shapeshifter technology to their advantage."

"Okay," said Olivia. "Can we have one of the dead victims from your side to be sent to Dr Walter's lab? I want him to examine the body, to see if he can find anything."

"We've already done that, Agent Dunham, and I can assure you that there was nothing wrong with the victims. But if it will appease your doubts on whether I am being totally forthcoming, I will have one of the bodies transferred as soon as possible."

Olivia was going to explain that it was simply protocol, but she decided that she indeed needed some proof, so she just nodded.

"Agent Dunham will take care of the transfer," stated Walternate. "She will also be staying on your side for a couple of weeks to help with the investigations." He then shifted his attention to his own Agent Dunham. "While you are here, I want you to maintain regular contact with our Fringe Division, and especially with Agent Lee, as he will be handling the investigations on our side."

"Yes, sir," Fauxlivia said as she resumed staring at Agent Max. Olivia thought it strange the way her doppelganger was eyeing the new agent; it was as if she had known him for a long time.

There was a part of Olivia that wanted to extend her alternate self an invitation to stay at her home as a guest for the duration of her mission on her side, and another part of her felt like punching her double repeatedly in sensitive areas. She couldn't bring herself to welcome that woman in her house. But hell, they both know Fauxlivia had already taken the liberty to live in it months ago, and to sleep in her own bed… Oh, God, how she despised her. And she believed her hatred was more than justified; after all, she had violated her professional and private life. Olivia knows how bigoted it is to judge people, but in her double's case, she couldn't help but think that the woman had no self-respect. She felt that was the best way to describe Fauxlivia without resorting to outright name-calling. Perhaps she was overreacting, but Olivia never felt the need to justify these feelings, for her instincts told her it was indeed forgivable, even blameless, to loath the very spirit of that woman.

But, with a sigh, she decided put aside those thoughts for now, focusing instead on the task ahead.

TBC...

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><p>I hoped you enjoyed this chapter.<p> 


	10. The Colossal Threshold

**Amy, **Thank you so much! There are more things to come, hang in there! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

****Uroboros75**, **You deserve all the best! It was all but honest praise! The 'chapitre' idea was intended, but if you think it should be better changed, I would!**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>CHAPITRE X<strong>

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><p><em>"Not double trouble, but twice blessed." - Author Unknown<br>_

**An abandoned apartment complex. New York. **

"I'm not that pleased to see you either," Mosley said to a silent Peter as he came to meet him outside the decaying apartment complex.

Peter simply shrugged, still donning his troubled expression. Reuniting with Mosley had reminded him of the insane man whose death he indirectly caused, and seeing David reignited the memory of what he had done and the guilt that accompanied it.

Peter also hated how easily David read him the last time, when he deduced that he was in love. He still felt terrible, and there was no one to confide in now that Olivia and Walter were out of reach. But even so, holding on to the troubles of his spirit would do him no good; perhaps what he really needed was a new confidante.

He looked over to Mosley. All things considered, he seemed to be a good man. And yet, Peter couldn't bring himself to share things just yet. It's just the way he was, keeping people at arm's length out of habit.

"Are you listening to me?" Mosley shouted. Peter surfaced from his reverie with a jolt before narrowing his attention onto his partner.

"Uh, what?"

"You heard me, Bishop!" Mosley said. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!"

He grasped Peter's forearm, stopping him just as they were about to enter the large building.

"Look," said Mosley in a calmer voice, "perhaps I was too busy thinking about all of this universe shit going, and probably of my own baggage as well, but I hadn't considered how devastated you must be feeling." Peter sighed and took another step forward, but Mosley wasn't taking any of it, stopping him again. "And after I concluded that you were in love-"

"-You said he was here?" asked Peter, clearly not interested in what Mosley had to say. "Colonel Raymond?"

"Hold on," said Mosley. "Tell me, how long has it been since they first took you?"

"Does it matter?" retorted Peter, visibly annoyed.

"Man, Peter, talk to me, will ya?" asked Mosley.

"We don't have TIME for this!" Peter exploded.

"Hey, now you listen to me," berated Mosley. "I know you're in a crappy place right now, but you're not doing yourself any favours by holding it all in. If we're going to try and do something about the Watchers, then you need to man up and get your head in the game, and the only way you're going to do that is if you get all that baggage off your chest!"

A moment of silence ensued, Mosley awaiting an answer. Seeing that Peter wasn't going to talk, however, Mosley sighed and proceeded to head into the front entrance.

"Blond."

Mosley stopped as he heard Peter mutter something to himself.

"She's...blond," Peter said.

Without a word, Mosley turned and took a few steps towards him.

"She always puts the needs of others before her own," he continued with a slight smile. "Haunted… She's …"

_Haunted_. Saying that word caused unpleasant memories to resurface.

"I... I cheated on her," he said, painfully.

"So...you guys broke up?" asked Mosley.

"No. I didn't know it wasn't her. I was…"

It was hard to explain something he tried to explain to himself every day; a choking feeling constricted his windpipe, and his words wouldn't come out anymore.

"What do you mean you 'didn't know it wasn't her'?" asked Mosley, puzzled. "Is that even a sentence?"

"Has he said anything?" said Peter bluntly, changing the subject. "Raymond?"

Mosley shook his head a little, but didn't complain, much to Peter's relief. "He said a bunch of things. For one, he doesn't believe that you're invisible, so he refuses to cooperate."

"If he refuses to help, then how did you get him to talk? Wait, don't tell me…"

"What? Oh, no, no! I mean, it would have been much simpler to use the mind-reading machine, but the guy is too old. Besides, I think your words back at my brother's grave made me reconsider my usual methods; and don't go feeling all high and mighty about yourself for it."

"So what _did_ you do?"

"I brought the Serum!" Mosley announced with a wide grin. "The therapy from my universe that spoke of earlier. While I was over there, I crossed paths with Sara. Guess what? She got married as soon as I left the first time…so I didn't have much to stay for."

"Harsh," commented Peter.

"Yeah," Mosley said with a sigh. "Anyway, since I had him hop universes a couple of time, he _should_ be able to see you. And if he doesn't, he'll definitely see the outline of your natural charge; your glimmer, in other words."

"Looks like crossing worlds has its perks," quipped Peter in approval.

While Mosley certainly liked to talk, there was no denying that he could be resourceful at times.

With that, they entered the building. Mosley led the way to the room where he kept Gordon. The colonel was shocked when he saw Peter's almost-corporeal form enter the room.

"_You_," he said with some contempt. "I remember you. You're the man that arrested me! Sinners! You'll all go to Hell."

Gordon continued to eye them both, rubbing his left forearm with his other hand.

"Would you stop that?" David shouted angrily. He turned to Peter. "You know, I liked this guy at first, but now he just pisses me off. I had to stop myself from stunning him on multiple occasions."

"What's he doing?" Peter murmured, watching Gordon rub his arm obsessively.

"I gave him a shot of the Serum awhile ago," explained Mosley. "He said he used to give people injections to make them explode. I guess he must have a phobia against needles or something." He then turned to address Raymond directly. "This is the guy I told you about. Do you believe me now?"

"I tried to warn you people," replied Gordon. "Nobody believed me! And now, I'm guessing that you need my help, right?"

"I'm only going to say this once, Gordon, so listen up," explained Mosley. "You're going to open that mouth of yours and tell us what we want to know, or I'm going to open it for you, understand?"

Mosley's patience was clearly thinning. Peter found Gordon to be somewhat unlikeable as well, but having dealt with his father for so long made him realize how patient he had become.

"What do you know about the Observers?" started Peter. "You know, bald guys, no eyebrows?"

"They're an evil species," explained Gordon. "We don't know what they want, but we know that they've been searching for something for a very long time. They've been studying us for who knows how long. They want to extinguish us all. You'll see!"

"How do you know all this?" Peter asked.

"I used to follow them around. I kept track of their movements using specialized radars and energy readings. I was able to follow them wherever they went! I had the means, but now… now I know everything about their daily routine. It's rather mundane, to say the least."

"You know where they like to hang out?" asked Mosley. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," said Gordon. "And I can prove it."

"Now he decides to talk," Mosley said. "He'd better lead us somewhere worthwhile, or I'll plug his brain into my interrogation machine, and then he'll really start talking!"

**A run-down building. Boston.**

"I think he's telling the truth," Mosley stated, pressing buttons on a phone-like device.

"How can you tell?" Peter asked. It was a hilled area with a forest that restricted the surrounding view.

"You know, our grandfathers never bothered to search for the Wormhole," said Mosley. "They never actually had the wealth or power to stand up against the Watchers."

"Alright," said Peter. "But how do you know this is the place."

"I'm getting there," said Mosley, continuing his computations. "The Watchers protect the Wormhole with a particularly powerful security mechanism. Our grandfathers called it the Colossal Threshold. It emits a considerable amount of energy, which this little gadget can detect."

The hairs on Peter's skin stood up.

"So I'm..." said Peter. "My body is somewhere... on the other end of the Wormhole?"

"I suppose," said Mosley. "We'll get you out of there, Peter. Don't worry about it."

Peter knew it was the chances of that were slim, but he gave a reassured smile anyway; the smile soon faded, though, and he found himself gazing into the distance. Funny how the destruction of one body could either destroy or salvage two entire universes, he thought. In any case, he braced himself mentally for the colossal task ahead.

_Colossal..._

"We need to go to my father's lab," Peter announced out of the blue.

"What? What for?"

"Robert Bishop," he said. "It's a long story; I'll tell you all about it on our way there. Come on!"

**Harvard University. Kresge Building. Boston. **

It had been three hours since they arrived at the lab. Between humorous banter and complaints on Mosley's part, they've been rummaging through Walter's old stuff. Peter knew how Walter absolutely hated it when someone went through his things, so he apologized internally whenever he opened a new box.

"So… your father," Mosley began. "You call him Walter. Why?"

"I got used to it."

"Well obviously! But there has to be a starting point, right?"

Peter remained silent.

"I mean, people usually don't call their father by name. Didn't he ever raise you to call him 'dad' when you were growing up?"

"I don't know," Peter answered, honestly.

Mosely muffled something to himself, then spoke.

"Do you hate him or something?"

"Let's just say it's...complicated," responded Peter.

"What the hell's that's supposed to mean?"

"... He-he kidnapped me," started Peter softly.

"He did _what_?" said Mosley, just barely hearing him.

"Damn it, David!" yelled Peter. "Will you get off my case?"

Mosley's mouth opened in stupefaction, and then closed in resignation.

Peter cursed himself for his outburst. He was losing control over his feelings; they were betraying him. Whenever he'd try to restrain himself, his emotions would reveal themselves in his words regardless. Perhaps it was due to the pain of having to keep them under wraps had finally breached the threshold of what was tolerable.

"There's nothing in these books," stated Peter after a long, awkward silence.

Mosley nodded. "Alright, then. I'll, uh, go search in these boxes over here."

They made sure to visit the lab only when everyone had left. When they first arrived at the University, they staked out the place form a distance. After awhile, Peter spotted Astrid and Walter leaving the lab. He also saw Olivia walking alongside some other guy. Peter wondered who the hell he was; he seemed oddly familiar somehow, though he didn't quite know why.

Anger rose within him at the sight, but he then calmed himself; after all, he figured he had no right to mess with Olivia's new life. She deserved the best anyway. He prayed for her to be safe and happy, to find someone who'd give anything just to make her smile, even if every word of his little prayer were like knives piercing his heart.

Mosely's voice brought him back to the present. "I found it!" he barked. "The address to your grandfather's old house."

He handed Peter a piece of aged paper with an address scribbled on the top. "I think your father might have written it up there, though there's no way to know for sure."

"Of course!" Peter said, studying the small drawing beneath the address. "The Seahorse! Walter said that Robert was the Seahorse!"

"Your grandfather is a seahorse?" asked Mosley, bewildered. "What is it with you and saying the weirdest shit imaginable?"

"We need to get going," said Peter, ignoring his comment. "Walter's going to show up soon."

"What do you mean? He left here just a few hours ago."

"I know, but I don't want to risk staying here any longer," explained Peter. "It would probably be best not to be here when they show up. And if you thought I say weird shit, you should hear the stuff Walter comes up with."

**Liberty Island. The Bridge Room. Five hours later.**

"Imagine a Peek Frean on the surface of a steaming liquid ..."

"I suppose that's an apt analogy, but these numbers should _still_ work."

"Yes, but at those rates –"

"It doesn't matter; the excess kinetic energy would be absorbed anyway."

"We won't be able to contain the spikes; the power fluctuations won't be able to be properly stabilized unless we put the Shock Absorber on overdrive."

"What about the inflation points here and here ?"

"Of course, if we determine time between intervals –"

"It looks like a logarithmic curve. What did you say were the frequencies of the secondary wavelengths?"

…

Olivia cradled her head in her hands, and Astrid did the same. The two men in the background hadn't stopped conversing ever since she'd arrived at the lab that morning. And somehow, it made her happy to just sit there and listen. Oddly enough, she found the argumentative banter to be energizing, lighting slivers of hope inside her. Her double had decided to seat herself on the far end of the table opposite to her. They exchanged glares, even smirks from time to time.

The two incarnations of Walter Bishop were in the process of discussing the various obstacles in devising a huge mechanism that would be capable of controlling and sealing various soft spots. She couldn't help but feel as if they were both but a single person, in the same place, with the same purpose, even the same voice.

She didn't want to interrupt them, but she needed Walter to tell her about the body he had examined at the lab. She tried butting in a few times, but getting the attention of a highly focused and determined Walter is a most challenging feat.

"Walter," Olivia tried again, "could I have a moment with you, please?"

Both men looked over at once with identical stares; a chill ran down her spine from the eeriness of the sight.

"When I arrived this morning, you said you had some ideas on what happened to the kidnapping victims?"

"Oh, Agent Dunham!" Walter suddenly said with a look that told her he just now registered her presence.

"Uh, hi, Walter," she smiled. "Good morning to you too, Mister Secretary."

"Good morning, Agent Dunham," greeted Walternate cordially.

Olivia nodded. "Walter, you said –"

"Ah, yes! The body!"

He strolled toward the corpse from the Other Side, a man who, in life, was called James Stewart. Walter grabbed the body's wobbly bicep. Fauxlivia came closer to get a better look.

"Needle marks?" she noted.

"_Special_ needle marks, very elegant. It leaves a specific, recognizable mark."

He stood pondering for a moment, staring out into space. He then approached Fauxlivia suddenly, causing her to step back.

"Of course," he said. "This proves my hypothesis."

"What do you mean, Walter?" Olivia asked as everyone else, including Walternate, stood perplexed.

"There are tiny scars on Fauxlivia's right arm which are identical to the needle marks on Mister Stewart."

He took better hold of the limp arm to showcase the marks more effectively.

"These ones are healed," commented Astrid, "but they're definitely the same as the one on Stewart's arm."

"Walter?" Fauxlivia said. Her insinuating tone told Olivia that they just had the same thing in mind.

"Much like Agent Dunham from the Other Side, they have taken biological samples from this man and most likely all of the kidnapping victims," Walter explained. "Not only did they take blood, but I suspect they also stole their B-Lymphocytes, which are connected to memory."

"Okay, but why would someone kidnap people, inject their doubles with their memories, and then kill them?" Olivia asked. She spoke with difficulty as memories of her own struggle with an alternate persona came to the forefront of her mind.

At that moment, Walternate's face showed sudden realization. And was that shame she saw passing over Fauxlivia's features?

"Two versions," Walternate stated. He looked to Walter, who seemed to arrive at the same realization.

"Yes, of course!" Walter said.

Astrid gave a nonplussed look. "I'm not following."

"Someone is taking advantage of the fact that it is now extremely easy to travel between parallel universes," Walter elucidated.

"And that there are two versions of the same person on either side," Walternate added.

"They kidnap specific individuals from our universe and experiment on them in order to extract their memories. They then inject their alternate versions with their own memories."

"And they do that because?" Fauxlivia prodded.

"They want them to fill in the blanks," suggested Walter. "To… to _take_ their double's place, to live their lives."

"Money," guessed Olivia.

"Power," Walter corrected. "They kill innocent people, then – if my theory is correct – they give their families a chance to have them back."

Walternate nodded. "More specifically, they trick these families by bringing them an alternate version that already believes to be the person they lost."

"How cruel," Astrid stated.

"Indeed, my dear," Walter agreed.

Olivia couldn't help but notice the somewhat sad look Walternate and Fauxlivia had briefly exchanged. Suppressing her own sadness, she pressed on.

"Does James Stewart have any relatives?" questioned Olivia

"A wife." Fauxlivia answered, offering her double an 'I know what you mean' expression. "Let's go!"

**Red Universe. Stewart residence. **

"Mrs. Katie Stewart? Fringe Division."

The woman's eyes went wide in perplexity. Olivia glanced sideways, and found her double similarly squinting at her. Fauxlivia smiled briefly before addressing the woman at the door.

"Uh...we're twins," she explained.

Katie nodded her comprehension."Oh, please, come in."

She bade them to take a seat in the living room.

"So, how can I help you?" asked Katie.

"Mrs. Stewart," began Olivia, "we wish to know the whereabouts of your husband."

"Uh… my husband?" said a visibly stricken Katie. "I don't know where –"

"You mean he's alive?" Fauxlivia asked.

"No. I lost him… days ago," she stated sadly. Tears streamed down her cheek. "I suppose you already know that."

"Mrs. Stewart," Olivia began, "we need you to help us. That person might look EXACTLY like your husband, but believe me –"

"What person?" Katie queried, innocently.

"Look, Mrs. Stewart," said an impatient Fauxlivia, "we don't have time to play games here, so –"

"Honey, I'm home!"

The voice sent everyone disturbingly still. Mr. Stewart appeared from behind the guest room's door, smiling.

"Well," Olivia sighed, "I think we owe you a little explanation, Mr. Stewart."

TBC...


	11. Peter, my boy

**CHAPITRE XI**

* * *

><p><em>"May your acceptance of this tremendous burden of service bear fruit in our world. May God give you strength for these new cares<em>" - _Mary McAleese_

**Liberty Island. The Bridge Room. Hours later.**

"They kidnap innocent people and kill others, all in an effort to gain power?" Astrid asked.

"'A Sacred Soul who can bring back the dead'," Olivia informed. "It was how the woman described the leader of the people who brought her husband back."

"Did the woman give you any useful information about these people?" Broyles asked.

"She said they organize and run a private auction, and that she won the right to participate. Apparently, she placed her name in a draw on the website they run, and that of all the candidates , she was among the lucky few who were chosen." She handed Astrid the website's name. "Out of hundreds, there were only four winners in the draw."

"Agent Farnsworth." Broyles ordered.

"I'm on it." Astrid was already typing commands on her computer, trying to gain access to the website.

"She said that right after the death of her husband," continued Olivia, "someone approached her on the street and gave her a username and password to access the website."

"This man apparently told her," added Fauxlivia, "and I quote, that 'the Sacred Soulswould obliterate her anguish'."

"That's sick!" Agent Max grunted from the background.

Fauxlivia sighed. "There's another problem. Even if we could get the location of the next meeting, we wouldn't be able to catch those responsible."

"Why is that?" Max queried.

"Mrs. Stewart said that the four chosen individuals are allowed to meet the so-called Sacred Soul for no more than two minutes. He talks with the audience for a bit, then he leaves, and the auction begins. The winner of the auction pays a large sum of cash, and a few days later, his or her lost beloved one comes back."

"Got it!" Astrid announced. "They're meeting in four hours from now. But the location of the auction isn't mentioned here."

"What do we do?" Max asked.

"The four chosen people, are they mentioned there?" Olivia asked.

"Yes," Astrid said. "Their full names are listed here, as well as their cell numbers."

"Hey, Astrid, pick a name out of that list," said Olivia. "Any name."

"Uh… Alicia Morgan?"

Olivia squinted at Broyles, who nodded. "Leave her to me," he said. "Gear up, Agent Dunham."

"Yes, sir," she replied.

"W-What's happening here?" Max queried.

"I'm going undercover," explained Olivia. "I'll use Alicia Morgan's identity to gain access to the auction."

"We have a problem," Fauxlivia warned. "As I said before, the so-called Sacred Soul only handles the conversation for a short time. Then his assistant takes over the bidding process. You can either let the Sacred Soul get away and nab his assistant when he shows up, or –"

"–_or_ catch the Sacred Soul when he shows up, blowing your cover and let the assistant run away," Olivia finished. Broyles had just ended the call and, without interrupting their dialogue, resumed listening carefully.

"Yes," said Fauxlivia. "Unless…"

"Unless we go together."

"Identical appearances."

"I'm gonna need to dye my hair, again, though," noted Olivia.

"You two are going together?" Astrid asked.

"Yes," Olivia nodded. "I'm going to go first, and then she's going to follow me after a short time. When the Sacred Soul disappears, I'll excuse myself, track him down, and Fau – _O_livia is going to replace me. She'll assist the auction as Alicia Morgan and arrest the assistant."

"That's a pretty sound plan," lauded Astrid.

"Let's hope it works better than it sounds," Olivia told her.

"Okay," said Broyles. "I'm going to contact Alicia Morgan. You two get ready. It starts in four hours. I want you ready in three."

"Yes, sir," nodded the Olivias in unison.

**Blue Universe. Robert Bishop's Residence. Outskirts of Boston. **

It was an old house, not too dissimilar from the Bishop beach house out by in Reiden Lake. The way the entryway was encrusted with dirt and grime and leaves proved there were no residents, so Peter impaled the door with his foot, forcing it open.

"Oh, man!" David said, coughing. "Where should we begin?"

"I have no idea," replied Peter.

"That someone wouldn't know the layout of their grandfather's house is a mystery I have yet to solve. But I guess that's understandable, since we, you know, forgot that we had to go to your father's lab and waste hours just to get the address. You Bishops sure are a peculiar bunch. Gah! Lots of dust around here!"

The next three hours were a frustrating affair. By that time, the search had amounted to nothing. Peter and Mosley had inspected and overturned every nook and cranny of the house.

Mosley sat down on a rocker in the living room in defeat. A loud crack then resounded as something fractured beneath him, and he hit the dusty floor once the chair twisted to the side.

"That's it!" he said. "I'm out of here!"

"Move for a second, will ya?" said Peter, following a hunch.

"What?"

"I said MOVE!"

Mosley complied. Peter shoved the chair out of the way, along with the filthy carpet the chair pinned to the ground. They both stood back to stare at the hidden trapdoor that was hiding in plain sight all this time. With shared apprehension, they lifted the heavy door open, revealing a staircase that lead into the cellar.

The room they soon found themselves was a whole new world.

It was like an antique version of Walter's lab, with added book closets and aged timber coffers parsing the place. The lights were rendered inoperable from years of neglect, so they had make do with the light seeping through the cracks in the roof.

"Great, more junk!" Mosley grumbled as he pushed a small box filled with some flask-like containers.

"To a Neanderthal, maybe," said Peter.

"Was that supposed to be funny?" said Mosley, indignant. "Because I don't think a Neander-whatnot would know what the word 'junk' even mea-… Oh, shit!"

"What?"

"Well, granddaddy Bishop obviously held you in high regards." Mosley grabbed a mid-sized strong box. "Look at this! Your name is on it."

The letters were carved in cursive font; the dust that had accumulated in the contours of the lettering made the name stand out even more.

_Peter Bishop._

Peter took hold of the case, staring in disbelief. If Walter was full of mysteries, it came as no surprise what his forefather had done in his time. But even so, Peter found himself surprised nonetheless. He ran his fingers slickly over the inscription, as if to make sure each character was really there. His eyes rested on the lock, which was unclasped, probably on purpose. He used his nails to nick away at the gluing powder. He then honed in on the clasp, but as though paralyzed, his hand wouldn't move any further. His body shuddered and he knew it had nothing to do with the cold.

However, Mosley was a far less patient man. He reached for the wooden cover, opening the box of mysteries.

"So, your grandfather was the one who named you?" asked David.

"I don't know," said Peter. "I think he died sometime before Walter got married." For a moment, Peter contemplated over the significance of his statement.

"Your grandfather named you before he got to learn that his son got married? That's probably the craziest thing I've ever heard. You know, along with a guy who was kidnapped by his biological father and didn't know he was dating his own girlfriend. Oh, and –"

Mosley snapped his jaw shut just as Peter slid out four aged rolls of paper from the strongbox.

It didn't surprise Peter that the first and second papers were copies of documents he stumbled across before. The first was the sketch of him inside the Machine, and the second was the First People Calendar diagram he saw in the book Markham gave him. The third document, however, was a map. And, to both his and Mosley's bewilderment, it displayed the location of the Wormhole to the Watcher Homeworld. The area correlating to the location on the old paper was circled in a color that looked like dried blood.

Mosley snatched the last document, studying it closely. "The Watcher's gun," he stated softly, observing it closely. "And there's a message on here too."

And he proceeded to read it aloud:

'_Peter, my boy,_

_Life is struggle, and in death we pass on this struggle to our sons and daughters, and they to the children that succeed them. You too will struggle, my boy, but wherever you go, know that rays of hope will follow; for you are special, Peter, in ways greater than you know. _

_Here is a great power hidden deep within you. You must seek to harness this power that and wield it righteously against the ones who predict and cannot be predicted before it is too late._

_It pains me that such a burden was entrusted to you. Truly, it does. And I cannot imagine what pain you will undergo because of this; but you must not waver in your conviction._

_Only you can set things the way they are supposed to be, before it is too late. _

_I don't know if you will ever find this letter, but I'm hopeful that you will; after all, you have the blood of the Bishops coursing through you. _

_I wish you luck, my boy. _

_Sincerely,_

_Robert M. Bishop.'_

Both stood silent for a moment after the message was read. Then, Mosley spoke.

"Well," he said. "You don't get a message like that every day. Hey, wait a second...what's this over here?"

"He's been in Germany," Peter said, peeking at the old paper.

"Germany?"

"Yeah, you know, Germany, the country. Don't you have a Germany in your world?"

"No, we don't actually."

Peter raised his eyebrows at the unexpected revelation before continuing.

"Was that all? There's nothing else on there?"

"You mean, besides the little Seahorse sketch decorating each document? Yeah, that's all."

Mosley let the parchment fall floor next to the other three, and faintly kicked them with his left foot. "These things are worthless," he sighed.

"Hey, be careful with those, will ya?" scorned Peter. "They can still be useful."

Mosely gave him a 'whatever you say' stare and lowered himself to pick up the parchments. Weary, he sat next to the open box on the filthy floor. He rubbed his shoulders and sighed as he picked the documents and started folding them to match the size of his pocket. When he finished, he rose to find Peter staring blankly into space.

"Gee, thanks for giving me a hand," retorted Mosley.

"He knew about all of this," said Peter, not paying attention to Mosley's concerns. "The Machine, the First people, the Observers, the Wormhole, its location…. Everything."

"Yeah, well, too bad it's a useless revelation. We already know where the Wormhole is, so the map's useless, and there's no indication how to disable the Colossal Threshold blocking access to the Watcher Homeworld. I hate to say it, but this chain of events has proved to be a huge waste of time."

"Of course," said Peter. "A chain reaction!"

"Come again?"

"Walter's always talking about actions and the reactions they spawn. The biggest advantages that the Observers have over us are chain reactions. We can't predict what they'll do because we're part of the chain they've setup, even though we may not be fully aware of it, and they can modify the course of this chain reaction just by showing up at specific moments in time."

"Well, yeah," said Mosley. "But they've stopped planning ages ago. They've already won."

"But not if _I_ interfere!" exclaimed Peter. "Remember back at Saint-Claire's, how I directly caused that guy to get run over? You said that I have the same function than an Observer's because I only exist here a projection of my consciousness."

Mosley's head arched back in dumbfounded realization. "Right, I forgot! You're not _really _here!"

"Right! I'm not supposed to be here, so I'm technically not part of their ultimate chain reaction!"

"You can interfere and alter the course of events they've been trying to orchestrate," expanded Mosley. "That's a great idea in theory, if we try to change things, they can easily correct interferences. You said so yourself."

"Not if the chain reaction we create unfolds too fast for them to stop."

"What do you mean?"

"All we need to do is think of a way to coerce Walter to seal the Watcher's Wormhole sooner than they had anticipated! I've spent a lot of time with Walter, so I can think of things that could convince him into changing his plan."

"Yeah, but what possible reason would make a scientist to change his foolproof plan of eliminating weaker Soft Spots first to randomly sealing a random Wormhole?"

"I think the answer might be in your pocket," answered Peter.

Mosley burrowed his eyebrows, confused.

"The manuscript," said Peter. "I'm sure Walter would know that it belonged to his father. He would recognize Robert's Seahorse in a heartbeat."

"So what?"

"That's the hard part. Walter would believe his father's words. We need to set up a chain of events that causes Walter to stumble across the map with the location of the Wormhole while he's busy working on closing the Soft Spots. If he saw that his father knew that something dangerous and important was going to happen, he'd immediately start investigating the significance of the Wormhole."

"I never thought I'd see the day where I'd be feeling optimistic again," Mosley said.

He summoned old map from his pocket and studied it as if for the first time.

"So how can you be sure the Watchers won't figure out our plan?" he said with concern. "We're heading toward s something big here. If anything goes wrong…"

"It's worth a try," Peter murmured in a serious tone.

"That's not good enough!" Mosley said. "We can't waste our time with tries anymore! What we need is something that'll work the first time, 'cause we're only going to have one shot at this."

"I know!" Peter yelled, pacing nervously. "I know."

"We need more information. We need to know how much time there's left until the Watchers know that something's up."

"January!" blurted Peter.

"Who?"

"He's like a child Watcher that I met in their Homeworld."

"You befriended a Watcher?"

"He's not like the rest of them." Peter told him. "I'm pretty sure he'll be willing to help."

He turned swiftly and made for the staircase. "I have to go!"

"Hey, wait!"

Peter stood in his tracks. "What?"

"Are you sure your father will be able to build that Wormhole-shattering machine?"

"If there's anyone who can do it, it's Walter."

Peter caught the weird expression on Mosley's face as he started to leave.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Well, if this works," began David, "it means the Watcher Homeworld would be..."

"...destroyed," finished Peter.

"Yes," Mosley said simply, features expressing sympathy. "And, well, everyone over there would be…"

"I know."

Mosley exhaled in rising frustration. "Your body is there too, you know. So that means…"

"...that I'll be dead. What do you want me to do about it?"

"Are you serious? Don't you care whether you die or not?"

Peter took a deep breath; he couldn't say that he did at that point.

Guilt chiseled at him every day; if their plan worked, he would find release in death, with no one to remember him or grieve for his passing. And for the first time in his life, he would find lasting peace

"I'll be fine, David," said Peter, purging thoughts of Walter and Olivia, of a life he no longer owned. "Besides, I've done this before."

"You've sacrificed yourself before?" asked a skeptic Mosley. "Then how are you standing here right now?"

"Well, let's just say it didn't quite work the first time," he explained. "I was prepared to die back then, and I'm prepared to die this time as well."

With that, he ascended the staircase, not wanting to meet Mosley's gaze; for he wouldn't be able to bear the look the man was giving him right now.

TBC...

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><p>I hope you enjoyed the chapter!<p>

I'd like to thank my beta reader **Uroboros75** for the tremendous work that was done in this chapter! especially with Robert bishop's letter.


	12. I remember you

Thanks for your reviews, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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><p><strong>CHAPITRE XII<strong>

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><p><em>"If the human brain were so simple that we could understand it, we would be so simple that we couldn't."<em>

_Emerson M. Pugh_

**Blue Universe. Federal Building. Boston.**

"Here."

Broyles handed the two red-headed agents a pair of identity cards and two small ear pieces.

"Two copies of Alicia Morgan's ID. Keep radio contact with us, and don't engage any of our targets unless it's necessary." He turned to address the Olivia from his world, then handed her a cell phone. "You're going first. This is Alicia Morgan's cell phone. It's been wire-tapped, so that will allow us and _this_ Agent Dunham to listen to your every phone conversation through her own personal cell."

"Understood," affirmed Olivia as she and Fauxlivia carefully clipped on their ear pieces.

She snuck a sideway glimpse to her double; her eyes rested on her other self, and she found that she couldn't look away. It struck her how determined Fauxlivia was. Not that her determination was lessened; it was only that Olivia had never expected her to be that much of a committed person. She'd never really cared to think about how much she resembled her alternate self, but now that they had to work together, she began to reassess her initial opinions about her 'evil' double.

Her heart jumped as Alicia's phone rung, interrupting her thoughts.

"Alicia Morgan," she answered in a calm voice.

"_Fleming-Monroe. The basement. One hour. There is a back entrance. Use your identity card to gain entry_."

The caller hung up, and Olivia relayed the message to the others.

Broyles nodded. "Alright you two, get moving," he ordered. "And make sure to part ways before you reach the building. Agent Max, you're with me. We're going to be posted outside and assist in the operation should something go wrong. Move out!"

The two agents exchanged a quick glance before falling in line with Broyles and Max.

Olivia made doubly sure that all of her emotions were tucked safely away, for all of her focus would have o be directed solely on the mission at hand. She decided to pay no mind to her freshly died; neither did she try to remember why she dyed her hair the first time.

The moment she looked at herself in the mirror just over an hour ago, the way her wet, red hair dangled loosely, her lingering, trouble stare; the combination of these elements somehow reignited a deeply-buried memory, resurfacing notions bouncing about in her head. The strange feeling that had been tormenting her day and night was disturbingly similar to the one she experienced during her first venture on the Other Side, where her memories had been scattered after they tried to brainwash her.

This time, however, the sensation was at least ten times more powerful.

She still remembered how things seemed wrong back then, yet she couldn't help but feel that everything was _very_ wrong this time. Why couldn't she recall the reason she travelled to the Other Side in the first place? It had something to do with saving the universes; that much she knew. But alas, there were things she always struggled to piece together, even though they never seemed to fit. She tried her best, but her memories proved to be far beyond her reach; and yet, she could feel that she was so close, and the cognitive dissonance was unbearable.

She exited the federal building and proceeded toward her car. Her body then froze as her eyes spied a very familiar figure, a figure she never thought she would see again.

John Mosley.

Was it the same John Mosley she killed three years ago? He was the man who had abducted…

_...Peter. Peter? Who's Peter?_

"Peter…" she whispered.

Her heart thumped hysterically in her chest as she experienced the onset of an excruciating headache. She stumbled toward Mosley, who displayed an uncharacteristically innocent face. Her legs started to shake with each step, and she had barely crossed a few feet before they gave in on her, causing her to drop on her knees.

"What's happening to me?"

Tears streamed down her face out of their own volition as she kept breathing the word 'Peter' over and over again. A stunned John Mosley precipitated her direction and called out to her.

"Is everything alright? Can I help?" He squinted at someone behind her. "What's wrong with her?"

Her vision swirled suddenly as her mind drifted back to the memory of her coming out of the tank in the lab, where someone was calming her. Warm. Safe.

_..._Peter.

"I don't know. Olivia, are you alright? Can you hear me? Quick, call an ambulance!"

She could barely make out Max's voice through the buzzing in her ears.

A sudden rush of adrenaline pumped up through her veins and she jolted up, grabbing John's forearm.

"Where is Peter?" she asked frantically. "Who… Where... Who is Peter? Please… someone answer me!"

Her words sounded muffled to her; everything around felt utterly alien.

"...Peter," she repeated softly, and that tormenting sensation that had afflicted her for so long continued to subside.

"Olivia? Can you hear me? Olivia? Someone call a goddamn ambulance already!"

She blinked several times, bringing her fingers to her temples and rubbing the vestiges of her headache away. Her pupils wandered about madly.

"I'm fine," she croaked. "No need to call the ambulance."

"Are you sure?" she heard Max mutter. "You look anything _but_ fine right now."

Taking a better look at her surroundings, she spotted Fauxlivia among the throng of people surrounding her; she looking terrified, clasping her hands at the sternum in concern.

"No, we have to go!" Olivia managed to say. "Where is Agent Broyles?"

"He left before you had your, um, incident."

"Didn't he say you were supposed to accompany him?"

"He said it would be safer if you two didn't go alone, so he decided to have me go with you and watch your back.

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut. Unfamiliar visions flew across fast she thought her brain would split open. Visions of the man with the brown hair and soft blue eyes, the man she'd once loved, the man about whom she knows nothing more than his name and his face.

"Peter," she whispered.

She opened her eyes and she squinted at John Mosley, who was still gawking in disbelief

"Listen to me, please!" she said to him. "I don't have much time now. I have an urgent assignment to complete, but I need to speak to you some other time. It's important. I need to know more about you, I…" she handed him her card."Here is my phone number. I'm Olivia Dunham. Please –"

"Yes, I understand," said Mosley. "I'll contact you."

She took a moment to compose herself. "We need to go!" she told the others.

"Are you sure you're fine?" Fauxlivia queried, her hand still resting on her stomach.

"Yeah. You?"

"I'm... good," Fauxlivia muttered before quickly turning away.

"Olivia, what happened?" Max asked her.

"I don't know."

"Are you _sure_ you'll be fine?"

"Yes. Let's go."

_Peter...Peter Bishop. Walter's son. Wait, does Walter have a son? _

Whoever this Peter Bishop was, she needed to find him. In doing so, she would find herself; that much she was certain of.

**The Watcher Homeworld. Peter's Cell.**

Peter's life had been something of a mess lately.

His days were split between having his consciousness propelled into waking life and pulled back into the nightmare where his body resided. The fleeting moment of transition between both states of being, when his mind clung to the last vestiges of a restless sleep only to return to a body alive with pain, was the worst; a swift but vivid drive through a limbo of misery.

The most recent transition was the most excruciating to date. Even the slightest movement was impossible, and he remained immobile for several moments before he could begin to move again. He fought to keep his eyes open, his eyelids heavy like lead. The burning pain in his arm grew to agonizing levels, and his poorly moderated, shallow breaths did nothing to soothe him. He risked a glance at the sore blisters and bloody, damaged skin decorating his forearm; his stomach reacted violently at the sight, and he was barely able to choke back the bile. He convulsed and shivered from the cold afflicting his body, though he somehow felt uncomfortably hot at the same time. It was then that the nature of his condition became apparent.

He had developed an infection.

He tried to focus on his surroundings through a hazy vision; all internal alarms went off as he spotted September standing near the wall, eyeing him blankly while holding a knife.

"I guess… I got back… just before…the next incision," panted Peter. "Lucky for me, huh?"

The Observer bent his head to one side, studying Peter.

"You are sick," he said, as though Peter's illness were the most trivial thing in the world.

"No thanks… to you," said Peter through clenched teeth.

At that moment, two bald guys appeared out of thin air without notice, bringing Peter to a slightly more lucid state. They grabbed Peter by the arms, hauling him upright then dragged him out. Pain exploded over his battered body and he grated out a scream as the grip around his throbbing shoulder tightened.

The going was arduous. It was hard enough to keep up with their steady pace, much less having to stay singularly focused on the gray, unchanging corridors. Not that it helped keep the pain in check; it was the only thing he could do to prevent September from probing his mind and knowing what he and Mosley had been up to.

The transfer from his cell to their as-of-yet unknown destination seemed to draw on for ages before the many corridors they traversed poured into an even larger hall. As he stumbled, Peter noticed yellow doorways embedded into the walls on either side of him; there were twelve in all.

September seemed to notice Peter's confusion, and he stopped momentarily, and the two other Watchers followed suit.

"The twelve great cities housing our populations," he explained. They then resumed walking.

Peter gasped in relief when they arrived to a huge, circular chamber, and the two Observers holding him loosened their grip. In a split second, his sluggish form dropped to the ground, ending his momentary relief, and the impact sent spikes of agony through him, exhaling on a stifled cry.

The bald figure standing before him appeared as a blurred silhouette through his fevered eyes. But he didn't get to learn that particular Observer's identity; Peter only felt the sharp sting of the needle the Watcher was holding. His world began to fade and darkness greeted him.

The next thing he knew, he awoke in a cold sweat. He snapped his eyes open as he felt hands clutching at his forearms. He wasn't in his cell anymore.

Memories of his last trip rushed up, of being carried to a great circular chamber; it was gigantic, and had three rectangular gates on its uniform walls. One of them caught his eye in particular; it was crimson, and had huge padlocks on each of its four corners.

But he was no longer in the gateway chamber. White walls, an antiseptic atmosphere, and a bald man with no eyebrows staring down at him, wearing some variation of medical garb; he suspected that he was in what must have been an infirmary, or something closely resembling one.

His vision began to clear, and he could see September standing next to an empty bed, while the two others from earlier stood on either side of him.

"He is awake," September stated. "We should go back, now."

September picked up his suitcase and his associates followed. In the meantime, Peter kept staring at his aching shoulder, which was now neatly bandaged; they weren't taking any chances with the state of his health, unlike that of his mind.

The infirmary's exit turned out to be one of the three gates from before. He analyzed the great crimson gate, wondering what sort of inscrutable secrets lay guarded on the other side. He entertained the various possibilities that came to him for a considerable time before September's voice intruded his curious thinking.

"You believe you can defeat us."

The words encumbered Peter's breathing. He tried to refrain from dwelling on thoughts of his father, knowing full well that September was scanning every thought that crossed his mind.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"While you were unconscious, your feelings revealed that you assume your father can seal the Wormhole leading to our world."

"What do you expect?" replied Peter. "It's not like I can control what I dream about. Not that I'd expect you to know what dreams even are."

"I have warned you before," continued, walking all the while. "If you are planning anything that conflicts with our designs, then we will figure it out long before you are able to carry it out. I think it is time I show you the strength of our resolve."

The Observers, half-dragging, half-marching a dubious Peter, headed toward the huge reddish gate. Whatever drug they've given him, the after-effects left his muscles numbed.

Two more Watchers joined the bunch, they too appearing from thin air, and they assisted September in unclasping the locks before shoving the heavy metallic door to the side.

Computer work stations with alien symbols written their monitors were the first thing to strike Peter's vision. He let his eyes wander in unreserved amazement, mouth gaping. Ground-breaking machinery was installed in every corner of what seemed to be a research facility. Walter would have been hopping like it was Christmas morning if could see it for himself; it made Massive Dynamic look like Robert Bishop's antiquated cellar. Here, technology took on a whole new meaning.

Peter's theories about the mysteries stashed beyond the huge gate were verified as his eyes locked onto the name printed on various boards on the wall above a particular set of computers.

_COLOSSAL THRESHOLD._

"What is this?" he blurted, reiterating the words 'Colossal Threshold' like a mental mantra. Mosley had told him it was the thing protecting the Wormhole to the Watcher Homeworld; for Peter, it was the definition of freedom.

"It is none of your concern," said September. "_This_, however, is what I have come to show you."

September gestured to what looked like a gargantuan humanoid robot attached to multitudes of wires in different colors, some his mind couldn't even register due to never having seen them before. The face of the machine contained a small screen whereupon streams of data and messages were scrolling at fast rates.

"Probabilities," began September. "This machine has more computational power than twelve well-trained Watcher minds combine. Its function is to calculate and locate any possible abnormalities that might affect the execution of our Master Plan. We call it… the Nexus Operator."

Peter could feel his heart beating hysterically; the Watcher was demonstrating the futility of resistance against their machinations. And Peter's bafflement must have made the Observer feel inhumanly proud; because, for the first time in his Peter's life, he could see September smirking.

Although Peter loathed September to the core, he could not deny that he was exceedingly clever.

"Any unplanned divergences, however small, in the intended course of events are quickly localized by the Nexus Operator," explained September. "The machine then alarms us of the Irregularity within an hour of your world's time."

Though perhaps September wasn't as thorough as he fancied himself; he had indirectly answered Peter's most pressing question. However, it did nothing to augment his hopes. His mind raced frantically as he tried to plan out his next move.

Because whatever it would be, he would only have sixty minutes to do it.

**Blue Universe. Fleming-Monroe. Olivia's car.**

Olivia glanced at the huge building, then at her other self. The combination of the urgency of the impending auction and Max having exited the car a few seconds ago left a palpable silence, a silence both Olivias attempted to subdue by checking the time on their respective watches at almost obsessive intervals.

As they waited anxiously, Olivia thought it would be beneficial to establish a casual line of communication with her double since they were about to undertake a joint undercover infiltration. She recalled how Fauxlivia was carefully eyeing Agent Max on their very first meeting; she figured that was a good place to start, especially since he had just stepped outside.

"So," Olivia began. "Agent Max. Do you know him?"

"Oh, don't get me started on that boy!" Fauxlivia chuckled, as if she had been itching to talk all that time. "Well, I don't know the Max from _this_ side, but he and I are well acquainted back home. We actually went to the same elementary school together. He was a really funny kid back then. Oh, _man_, those were good times."

Fauxlivia's words made Olivia realize why she felt as if she knew Agent Max the first time they met; it turned out this was but another lingering memory of her double's life that had once been forcibly implanted into her brain.

"Yup," agreed Olivia. "Funny guy."

"Tell me about it!" replied Fauxlivia. "He's hilarious! I remember how back in the first grade, he would always add another 'X' at the end of his name. _M-A-X-X_. Can you believe that?"

She giggled at the memory for a bit before continuing.

"That's why all the kids at school used to call him Mr. X."

**A parking lot near the Fleming-Monroe buidling. **

September studied the human he hired a few days ago to watch over the girl, just as Senior December had instructed him.

"The girl is starting to remember?" asked the Watcher.

"Yeah," replied Agent Max. "She had some kind of breakdown a few hours ago; kept on mumbling things about a guy named Peter Bishop. So, what do you want me to do?"

The Seniors were planning on meeting to discuss that very affair, but the meeting was probably going to be long, too long for September's tastes; their plan could quickly diverge from its intended path in the meantime. So September did not bother to tell them about what he was doing, about how he had decided to take care of the matter himself.

September cocked his head – as he had always found that it helped him calculate faster – and seconds later, he announced his decision to Mr. X.

"Kill her."

TBC...


	13. Mr X

**Amy, **Peter and Mosely do have a plan, but the probleme is that the observers can figure it out in a matter of sixty minutes thanks to that Nexus Operator. Still... That's better than nothing, right? XD Again, thank you for enjoying and following the story! I hope you like the final chapters!

**Special thanks to my beta reader uroboros75.  
><strong>

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><p><strong>CHAPITRE XIII<strong>

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><p><em>"It's hard to tell you has your back from who has it long enough just to stab you in it..."<em>

_Nicole Richie_

**Blue Universe. Near the Federal Building. Boston.**

Mosley savored the last mouthful of his cheese and ham sandwich as Peter came to meet him. He had summoned the Banshee to Boston so that he could inform Mosley of the fruits of his research; but as Peter came closer with a grim expression, David braced himself for the worst.

"Well?" said Mosley.

"We have a problem," announced Peter.

"Why am I not surprised? How much time do we have?"

"Sixty minutes," said Peter with a sigh.

Mosley stood perplexed. "An _hour_? We have to start the chain reaction, get the map in your father's hands, have him seal the Wormhole, and all that in fewer than sixty minutes? What if the Watchers catch us?"

"We're going to have to find a way to distract them while we carry out our plan," said Peter, holding his chin.

"Listen to yourself for a moment!" said Mosley, gripping Peter's shoulders. "What you're asking is insane!"

Mosley released Peter, then turned away, staring off into the distance. "Distract them, my ass," he mumbled to himself. "I can't believe this guy…"

"Well, a man can hope, can't he?" said Peter, overhearing his associate's disgruntled complaints.

Peter appeared awfully despondent; seeing this, Mosley decided to steer the course of the conversation in another direction.

"Well, there is some good news," he began. "I met your lady earlier. She dyed her hair red, though. It suits her nicely, actually."

"Olivia?" asked a disbelieving Peter.

"Actually, there were two of them," said Mosley. "Freaking identical twins, I tell ya. But I guess the one who chatted with me was your girl."

"What? How?"

"That's what I wanted to tell you. She told me to contact her. Gave me her number and everything. So maybe if you want to see her again, this would be your chance."

Mosley stopped himself, noticing the confused look Peter shot him.

"She remembers you, buddy," he clarified bluntly. "She asked me about a guy named Peter Bishop around fifteen minutes ago –"

"Oh my God!" Peter cursed as his eyes displayed unrepressed horror.

"What? What's wrong?" Mosley asked. This was supposed to be good news. Why was he so upset all of a sudden?

Mosley's eyes widened as Peter clutched his shirt, looking furious. "Where is she?"

"Whoa, calm down, man!" said Mosley, holding his hands up. "What's the matter?"

If anything, Peter got even more riled up by Mosley's general response. "Where _IS_ she, David?"

"She said she's on a mission with her identical twin and that guy we saw back at the lab," said Mosley at a quick pace. "He-he kept asking her about what she'd remembered. I don't know where they were going though."

Peter's eyes stared in confusion, as if recalling something, then in shock. "I remember where know that guy from!"

"Who is he?"

"It's the man who's going to kill her!" declared Peter in horror. His eyes were the epitome of torment, and he looked as though he was struggling to hold back an onslaught of tears.

"Listen, Peter –"

"Please, I can't interfere," said a manic Peter. "I need your help. We've got to go to the lab. Get Astrid, or-or Walter…Anybody!"

"Alright, alright. But could you tell me what's going on? HEY, WAIT!"

Peter had already begun to sprint madly away from the scene, but halted momentarily.

"They're going to KILL her! _That is _what's going on! September, that _bastard_! He warned me not to get involved –"

Mosley could see that Peter was in a panicked state, but his distress suddenly spiked; he was starting to disappear.

"No, not _now_!" he grunted. "Please, Mosley, promise me you'll save her! Do something, anything! I can't lose her again! I-I can't…"

And just as Peter's form faded away entirely, Mosley replied.

"I will."

**Harvard University. Kresge Building. Boston.**

David pushed the lab doors open, determined to ascertain the whereabouts of Peter's girlfriend.

Little did he expect to find such an unusually stunning lady.

He gawked for a considerable time, studying her pristine features. The woman squinted at him with big, hunting eyes, past a shade of pure innocence. A smile escaped his lips and he decided he was going to try to ask nicely.

"Uh...can I help you, sir?" purred the beautiful woman, her voice sheltering Mosley with comforting warmth.

He blinked, coming to his senses and cursing himself for being so easily distracted. "I need you to tell me Agent Dunham's whereabouts right now! Please! It's urgent!"

She shook her head, not quite knowing how to react.

"Listen to me, they're gonna kill her!" reasoned David. "Please, I have to do something about it before –"

"ASTRO!"

"I'll be right with you, Walter!" replied to Peter's father, trying to dissuade him from entering the premises as perceived the stranger to be a threat.

But even with her subtle warning, Walter came anyway, entering the main area of the lab "Astro? Is something wro – Oh, hello. Who might you be?"

Mosley would have stayed forever if it meant enjoying the young woman's company, to stare at those charming shades of black hear curls on that rather captivating face; but he quickly discarded the notion; he was a man of honor, and he needed to honor his agreement with Peter.

"I'm sorry," whispered Mosley as he grabbed his stunner, aiming it at Peter's father.

"Wait, no, please!" quavered Walter. "I'm just a scientist! We won't cause you any trouble."

"Call Olivia and retrieve the information I ask for or he dies," ordered Mosley, hoping his impromptu ploy would pay off.

The woman hesitated for a second. "Okay, I'll call her," she agreed.

Grabbing her cell phone, the woman composed the number. "Olivia, it's me. Where are you?"

Astrid activated the speaker option. "_I'm at Fleming-Monroe. Why_?"

"Oh, it's nothing, really. Walter just wanted to make sure that you're fine!"

"_Okay, I'm heading to the basement now, so I'm gonna have to shut down my phone. Astrid, is everything alright over there?"_

_Astrid_.

He relished the name for a moment as Astrid terminated the call.

"Yeah, everything's alright," said Astrid. "Well, uh, good luck with your assignment!"

"_Okay, thanks. But I'm going to have to turn off my cell for the auction, so you won't be able to call me again."_

"Understood."

Astrid terminated the call and replaced the cell, and both she and Walter continued to eye the man brandishing the bizarre weapon.

"I'm sorry to have had to put you through this," muttered David. "Thanks a bunch for your time."

With that, he departed, earnestly wishing that he could have met that woman under different circumstances.

**The Watcher Homeworld. Peter's Cell.**

"Where is September? I need to speak to him NOW!"

Adrenalin coursed freely through him as he stood defiantly against the walls that surrounded him. He wondered why the Dissipation window pulled him back this time; January soon told him that it had something to do with his weakened physical state.

_Olivia._

He bit back tears and swallowed overwhelming bitterness, praying hopelessly for the Observers to commit a mistake.

"That is impossible," stated January. "You cannot see him now."

Peter felt as if his head was ready to explode. "Why not?"

"The Seniors are having a very important meeting. We must not interfere."

"Listen to me," pleaded Peter. "They are going to kill Olivia! You remember, the blond woman who helped you! They're going to assassinate her because she was starting to remember me!"

January continued to stare, shocked.

"Please! Just help me get there. I'll talk to them myself! You won't have to do a thing, I swear!"

"I can't," persisted January. "It's forbidden."

His last chance in saving Olivia was seeping through his fingers; even if Mosely was able to save her this time, it would only postpone the inevitable.

"Okay," January said suddenly, with great unease. "Come with me!"

He pressed a button on some kind of a remote control, deactivating the transparent shield that separated him and Peter.

"Thank you!" muttered Peter. "Thank you."

Every muscle in his body protested as he pushed himself to his feet and used the walls for support. By the time they reached the meeting area, which was one of the three rooms in the huge circular chamber, Peter's shirt was saturated with perspiration; having to bridge the distance all alone served as a reminder of the weakened state of his body.

Standing guard were two particularly imposing Watchers; they moved aside without trouble at January's behest. The door was opened, and January entered the room, followed by Peter; he stood still, taking in the peculiar sight of twelve Observers sitting around a huge rectangular table.

"Twelve votes," he heard December declare. "It is decided."

The old Watcher turned his eyes to Peter, having noticed his intrusion, and the others did the same. Voices echoed from everywhere, hushing and whispering, proving they had already deduced the reason why Peter interrupted their clandestine proceeding.

"January, you have made a grave mistake," stated September. "Reprimand will be severe."

"It's not his fault," said Peter. "Please, listen to me. You don't _have_ to kill her. I have a better idea. There _is_ another way –"

Before he could get any farther, he heard the familiar sound of the discharge of September's pistol. The last thing he fell to darkness was the sight of January being dragged away by three Watchers.

**Olivia's car. Fleming-Monroe entrance. Several minutes later.**

Patience was not her strongest suit.

Fauxlivia was bored to death; there was yet to be a sign of her alternate self. She constantly shifted positions in her seat, fingers fiddling with her earpiece. Sighing, she let her eyes scan the outside perimeter for the seventh time.

Her eyes flared open as she spotted the man who caused the other Olivia to break down and call that oddly familiar name. _Peter_. After the incident, Olivia had explained to her that the man was an assassin named John Mosley, a man she had apparently shot dead.

Apparently, she didn't shoot him dead enough.

She burrowed her eyebrows in wariness as the man removed some kind of weapon from his long-coat before entering the building. Readying her gun, she exited the car and parted in his direction just as he shot the two men guarding the entrance.

"Hey!" she shouted. "Hold it right there!"

The man disappeared in the darkness. She figured that it couldn't be a coincidence to stumble across this guy twice in such a short period of time. He could be tracking down her alternate version, perhaps even trying to kill her. She needed to stop him before he jeopardized the mission.

Before it was too late.

**Fleming-Monroe. The basement.**

Olivia made her way to the room at the end of the dark corridor, escorted by the black-clothed man who showed up after a long time waiting. He called her by name – Alicia Morgan – and beckoned her to follow him.

The last conversation with her double left her somewhat tensed, not to mention her recent encounter with John Mosley. She couldn't help but feel unsafe, scared even. Her mind wandered back to where she had once been with that man called Peter, when they talked about someone called Mr. X.

_He's the man whose gonna kill me._

Agent Max looked oddly similar to that picture she drew. Her heart hammered and she swallowed back bitter uneasiness.

…Could it be?

Fauxlivia was set to arrive in a short while. She was to hide out somewhere until Olivia contacted her to take her place when The Sacred Soul left.

"We're late," said her escort, picking up the pace. "Hurry. The Sacred Soul had already arrived."

He pressed on in the direction of the man standing in front of the door at the end of the long hallway.

* * *

><p>Mosley hid in a curved corridor as the crazy woman still stalking him around passed by.<p>

"Fuck!" he mouthed.

He had yet to determine who she was and why she was tracking him down. But he couldn't afford to dwell too long, because he needed to find Olivia or that man before the latter got to her first.

* * *

><p>Olivia stood close to her escort, awaiting further instructions. A cold shudder ran down the length of her spin as the glimmering Sacred Soul came into full view.<p>

"I apologize for the tardiness, sir," offered the escort, bowing forward.

In a flash, a set of painful memories crossed her mind as she relived the moment where she first perceived Peter's glimmering aura. She knew little about the history she shared with the man from her memories, but her mind quickly made the connection between seeing the figure before her glimmer and the sensation of fear that gripped her.

The Sacred Soul was not from here.

She narrowed her eyes, focusing on the grinning features of the man that turned to face her, and somehow, the fact that she knew the identity of this man didn't faze her at all.

After all, it wasn't the first time she had encountered David Robert Jones.

Jones studied Olivia, smirking all the while.

"I'm afraid you're a bit late, Miss Morgan. I was just about to leave."

She inhaled deeply, offering a polite gesture. "I understand. Please forgive me, sir."

They left her waiting for almost an hour; how was it her fault that she was late?

Olivia's question was soon answered as she felt the tip of a gun pressed against her temple.

"What's going on here?" she asked as Robert reached his hand to the side of her head and snatched the earpiece from her red locks.

"The FBI would have started hearing us as soon as you pressed this little button," announced Robert, studying the device as three more guards surrounded Olivia. "And we can't have that, can we?"

Her pulse raced as her eyes remained glued to the alternate version of the criminal whose bisection she witnessed over two years ago, the day he'd tried to cross over to the other universe, where Walter had used the patching device to seal it shut.

…_Or was it Peter?_

"I don't quite like noise, Miss Morgan – though I assume that's not your real name," deduced Jones. "And to attempt to barter my escape in exchange for your freedom would be rather reckless on my part. That is why you'll be the one doing the bartering."

He handed her the small device.

"Call your colleagues and tell them that the Sacred Soul hasn't shown up yet."

Olivia tried hard to contain her oncoming smile.

The earpiece was already active.

Olivia had made sure to keep it on as a precautionary measure, especially since gaining an audience with the Sacred Soul.

And by this point, her colleagues have heard all they needed to hear.

Before anyone realized what she was doing, Olivia uncurled her fingers, let the small earpiece fall to the floor, brought her foot up high, and crushed it under the sole of her shoes, all in the span of mere seconds.

"That should do," she muttered, holding her breath, waiting for the inevitable angry reaction. But a reaction that never came, oddly enough; Robert held his hand, calming the guards

"I must admit, I am impressed by your courage, Agent Dunham," said Robert, grinning widely.

"How did you find out –"

"– about your daring undercover operation? It was simple, really. I received a phone call from my ever-loyal follower Alicia Morgan as you were escorted to meet me here. Yes, you're beginning to see, aren't you? There's always more to things than meets the eye."

Olivia was beginning to piece together the bigger picture at play.

"So the four chosen..."

"There are no _chosen_," revealed Jones. "There's only a single victim, a weak and devastated individual who believes that they're the luckiest person alive. The other three work directly under me."

"How did you manage to bring Shapeshifters under your command and kidnap those people?"

Jones shot her an amused glare. "The whole auction is merely a fun game we play to make the whole ordeal much more dramatic," he added, clearly not going to let her in on his methods. "And, of course, influence our customers into bidding for the highest prices."

"Your customers?" said Olivia, disgusted. "You've destroyed the lives of innocent people!"

Jones chuckled in response.

"Funny you should say that, Agent Dunham; especially since your world has shattered more lives than I ever will."

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><p>Five minutes had passed since Fauxlivia heard Agent Dunham's last transmission, and she feared for the worse.<p>

She figured that the only reason she had not responded yet was because her cover had been blown. She immediately set out to find her, but the place was huge and it infuriated her. The darkness of the corridors wasn't helping either, not to mention that she had to keep an eye out for John Mosley; the fact that he headed straight for the basement level lead her to suspect that he was targeting her double, a fact that elicited great concern.

At first, she debated with the thought of shooting Mosley, even though a few golden opportunities had already presented themselves at that point. Gunfire would certainly jeopardize everything, but now that things seemed to be going to hell anyway, she figured that Mosley at least needed to be incapacitated.

Her breath caught as she noticed movement down the corridor. She immediately aimed her gun and pulled the trigger as Mosley's form materialized from the shadows.

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><p>The sound of gunfire suddenly resounded, followed by a high-pitched scream. Alerted, Jones gestured for one of his three men to follow him, and gave orders to the other two before proceeding to the nearest exit.<p>

"Kill her."

The guards drew their weapons; in the thick of all this chaos, she would only have once chance.

In the blink of an eye, she reached out her hand, grabbing one of the guard's wrists and disarming him with a jerk and twist. She then placed herself behind him just as the torrent of bullets meant for her penetrated the chest of her hostage instead. The other man was caught off guard long enough for Olivia to use her dead hostage's weapon against him, firing a shot through the forehead. Both men hit the ground with a thud. She then appropriated one of their guns and, taking a long breath, pursued the Sacred Soul down the dimly-lit corridor.

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><p>"You crazy bitch!" yelled Mosley. "I was in the middle of saving your ass!"<p>

The woman that had just shot him then shifted back into the darkness to take cover.

Multiple gunshots suddenly fired from somewhere close by; alarmed, she strolled toward its source, ignoring Mosley's agonized wailing.

He clutched his bleeding forearm to apply some pressure on the wound.

"Argh! Shit!"

How did he ever manage to get himself into this situation? Right, he was saving Peter's mad girlfriend.

His shoulder throbbed frantically, and he used his good arm to grab the stunner and push himself up. At least he managed to warn her and make sure that she was okay. He looked around, then sped off, knowing full well that the FBI would soon be swarming the building, and he needed to get as far away from there as he could before they did.

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><p>Mr. X froze as he detected faint movement.<p>

He peered over the corner, careful not to fire at anything until he was absolutely certain that he had Olivia Dunham in his sights. He wasn't expecting her to abruptly remember Peter Bishop earlier that day, nor having to kill her, which is why he regretted not having his silencer with him at the moment. That was going to be a problem, since the whole place was sheeted in eerie calm; any gunshot would certainly betray his position.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to discern the approaching silhouette in the outlying shadows; his pupils dilated in alarm when he determined that it was the one he was looking for.

He emerged from the wall he was leaning against and proceeded to face Olivia, aiming as best as he could in the dim light. She was also holding a gun, apparently looking for someone too, but she stopped in her tracks when she spotted the man holding her at gunpoint.

"…Max?"

"It's been a pleasure, Olivia Dunham."

He pulled the trigger, and the bullet pierced her heart. She fell to the floor in an expanding pool of her own blood, and Mr. X smiled in satisfaction, another successful mission under his belt.

TBC...

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><p>Mr. X did it... ?<p>

I hope you enjoyed the Chapter!


	14. Humanity

Hello again!

Late update, I'm sorry! But here is a new long chapter, I hope you enjoy! And always thanks to the best beta reader **Uroboros75!**

**Amy, **Evil? Oh, wait until you read this chapter, XD I really hope you enjoy it, and thanks again for following the story!**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>CHAPITRE XIV<strong>

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><p><em>"Life is struggle, and in death we pass on this struggle to our sons and daughters, and they to the children that succeed them. You too will struggle, my boy, but wherever you go, know that rays of hope will follow; for you are special, Peter, in ways greater than you know.<em>"_ - Robert Bishop_**  
><strong>

**Fleming-Monroe. The basement. **

She stared, barely able to process the horrifying sight. Fauxlivia's prone form laid in the darkness, chest soaked in stains of angry crimson.

Olivia quickly took a few steps forward, knelt by her side, and gently lifted her head.

"We need a medic!" Olivia shouted just as she noticed Fauxlivia's fingers moving slightly.

Fauxlivia's eyes promptly snapped open, disclosing a shocked look that sent a chill down her double's spine.

"Max… M-Max…" panted the injured agent.

"It's okay," said Olivia. "Stay with me. You're going to be just fine,"

Her heart skipped a beat as her alternate self peeled her lips, drawing a weak smile that spoke of acceptance to an unavoidable fate. The injured woman's features then shifted from resignation peaceful to total terror.

"Henry," she gasped. "Oh, God...H-Henry..."

She grabbed Olivia's shirt and somehow found the energy to pull her closer.

"Please," croaked Fauxlivia. "Tell him… I'm Sorry." Her lips quivered as she fought to utter words. "Tell him… I never meant for any… "

"Tell who?" asked Olivia.

"Peter… Peter Bishop." Her eyes watered, she wept and sobbed hurtfully, tears flowing down her cheeks. "Tell him... to take care of Henry… Please… Please, promise me–"

"I promise."

And at the sound of those words, Olivia Dunham drew her final breath.

Olivia kept glaring at her double's form, a billion queries crossing her mind.

"I promise," she reiterated softly, fighting the urge to cry.

Then she jumped as Max's voice broke the choking silence.

"My heart bleeds for you, Agent Dunham. Truly, it does. But don't worry, you'll be following her soon enough."

"Max?"

She spun to her feet, facing the barrel of Max's weapon.

Her jaw dropped in outright shock. "Why?"

"Oh, that was a mistake," he explained calmly. "I've just checked the back of her neck and couldn't find the tattoo that was supposed to be there."

She couldn't believe it. He deceived them all, and did so with finesse. And to make matters worse, he seemed to know more about her than she would have thought.

"I don't understand," she gaped.

"It's simple, really," explained Mr. X. "I've been assigned to kill you, but she died instead."

Pointing the barrel of his gun between her eyes, he flipped off the safety. "Guess I'll just have to try again."

**The Watcher Homeworld. Peter's Cell.**

Reality crept on Peter sharply this time. He swiftly lifted his head, causing knifes and needles to sting his muggy skin. September's figure materialized before him just as he blinked away the dizziness.

"What have you done to her?" shrieked Peter, his heart thumping hysterically.

Clenching his teeth, he barely forced back escalating fury as September coolly maintained his observant disposition.

"The girl is not dead," announced the Watcher. "At least, not yet. There has been a... _development_."

Sprinkles of hope washed over Peter's heart, and he almost smiled in relief. "Listen to me!" he reasoned. "You don't have to kill her! There's a better way!"

"The decision has been already made," stated the Watcher.

"But you knew this decision wasn't the wisest one, right?" challenged Peter.

September gazed him with concealed confusion. "How so?"

"You underestimated her," explained Peter. "You thought you could make everyone forget me, so your Master Plan didn't take into account that someone might remember me. And you know better than I do that killing Olivia is going to initiate a new, unpredictable chain of events, one that could negate your Plan altogether."

"That was a risk we were willing to take," stated September, looking uncharacteristically uncertain.

"I told you, there is a better way!"

"What would you recommend?"

Peter swallowed hard; he took a fortifying breath for what he was about to suggest.

"Make her forget, just like you did the first time."

Although it wounded him to the core, it was the only move he had left.

There was a selfish part of him that longed for the moment that Olivia finally remembers him, and she would call his name, and hold him in her tender embrace. He yearned to be with her again at any cost. Of course, he wouldn't dare bargain at this point with her life at stake. She didn't deserve to be punished for remembering him; he'd never forgive himself if he lost her because of it.

September studied him for a while before he stormed out. Peter resumed pacing the small room, anger eating at the last shreds of his patience. He counted every single minute, hoping the time variation on either side of the Wormhole would work for his benefit.

To his relief, the Watcher showed up again, staring beyond the invisible shield. "Congratulations Peter. The Seniors have voted unanimously in favour of your proposition."

Flickers of a smile escaped Peter's lips as he sighed, impossibly relieved. The Observer turned to leave the room, addressing him as he did.

"It appears January's execution was not in vain after all."

Then the suited man disappeared entirely.

Peter gawked in shock, blades piercing his heart. He didn't reply; there was no point anyway.

His stomach lurched violently. The very thought of what the Observers had done to the defenseless child revolted him. He hurried to the small toilet in the corner of the room and fell forward on his knees, bringing up everything his sickened stomach had to spare.

**Fleming-Monroe. The basement. **

Olivia eyed the weapon being brandished in her face, wondering if her luck had finally run out this time. She raised her chin, waiting for the inevitable.

"Hey, it's nothing personal," he shrugged. "Business is business, after all –"

Max stopped at the sound of his ringing phone. "Slide over you gun over to me," he ordered Olivia. "Slowly."

She hesitated, but eventually did so. The FBI would shortly arrive, so she only needed to buy as much time as possible.

Max's call was short-lived, and although she had the opportunity to check for Fauxlivia's handgun, she figured that he had already foreseen that possibility, and had taken measures to prevent such an outcome from occurring.

"Well, what do you know?" sneered Mr. X. "Looks like you'll be allowed to live after all."

"Who _are_ you?" asked Olivia.

He grinned, eyes glittering in the encircling darkness.

Slipping a hand in his pocket, he brought another gun, stranger in design. "This, Agent Dunham," informed Mr. X in reference to the eerie weapon, "will help you get over your troubled memories."

He aimed at her, and fired.

As the darkness of unconsciousness gradually swallowed her vision, Olivia thought she heard someone yell _FBI_.

She came to her senses at the sound of Broyles' shouts. His words sounded muffled through the buzzing in her ears, but she presumed that he must have been calling for medical assistance.

She forced her eyelids apart, scanning the gloomy perimeter. Fauxlivia's corpse lay cold next to her live body. She closed her eyes, shivering at the sight.

_So it wasn't all a nightmare_, she determined with a pained sigh.

"Dunham!" asked Broyles, kneeling to her side. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She lifted her head, blinking several times. Her eyes fell on Max's form, laying flat on the bloody floor. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," said Broyles frankly. "We came here and found..." His eyes passed to the other Olivia. "It was too late. She was killed in action."

"Yeah, I know."

She swallowed, choking as the memory reiterated. Sudden flashes of other memories from the last minutes before her blackout also played themselves back, causing her to sit upright.

"Sir, it was Jones," explained Olivia. "David Robert Jones was The Sacred Soul; well, the Alternate Jones, to be precise. And then, Agent Max came and – and _killed_ her..." It was getting hard for her to keep her breathing under control. "Agent Max was the mole. He tried to kill me, but… I don't know…"

"Okay, calm down," said Broyles, clearly finding it hard to grasp her barely audible words.

"What happened to him?" asked Olivia, gesturing to Mr. X.

"We caught him holding a gun at you before he tried to escape, so we took him down," said Broyles, looking concerned. "Are you feeling okay? I was told you had a sudden break down earlier today, and that you muttered some strange name. _Peter Bishop_."

Olivia squinted at him, puzzled. "Peter Bishop?" she said. "I don't recall saying anything about a _Peter_ Bishop. I guess I must have been trying to call out to Walter or something."

**Harvard University. Kresge Building. Boston. Two days later.**

Olivia emerged from her car and hurriedly made her way towards Walter's lab. Nina Sharp had summoned her there; although the call was brief, she couldn't help but think that it was important. Nina sounded awfully urgent.

The last two days had seeped between hurtful contemplations and restless naps. The repercussions of the other Olivia's death impacted everyone on both sides; and although Walternate had fully understood the circumstances behind her assassination, he seemed genuinely saddened.

Olivia hustled the lab door open and was slightly surprised at the sight of Walternate standing next to Nina; he was apparently summoned to the lab for the same reason

"Oh, hello Agent Dunham!" greeted Nina.

"Miss Sharp, Mister Secretary," nodded Olivia, offering a faint smile.

At that moment, Walternate stormed out of the room, seemingly furious.

"Umm...what's wrong?" asked Olivia. "Where's Walter?"

She assumed that it was the fallout of yet another dispute between both Walters, but Nina's face told her otherwise.

"We found out who the mole is," informed Nina.

"The person who infiltrated Massive Dynamic and cracked the Other Side's computers? Who is it?"

"We've been able to search through the history logs of certain database accesses requiring fingerprint scan validation; they've been all carried out by the same person. Brandon Fayette."

"Brandon? _He's_ the mole?"

"No, I don't believe so," Nina stated, calmly. "Brandon's clearance level is high, but not high enough to access a lot of highly classified information, such as the existence of the Bridge Room, for instance. And most importantly, all the database accesses occurred outside of Brandon's regular shifts."

"The _other_ Brandon?" breathed Olivia.

Nina nodded.

**An abandoned apartment complex. New York. **

"They killed an innocent child," sighed Peter.

It had been two days, yet time had not lessened the horror of that crime.

On account of his feeble state of health, the Observers shut down the Dissipation Window and didn't reactivate it until a few hours ago. It came back around the time the Watchers were preparing for the sacred disposal of January's body. Peter had asked September to assist the rites of their people, but the Observers refused in a rather cold way, saying that the ceremony was not meant for human eyes.

January's death redefined the struggle Peter found himself in. It was a battle against the face of apathy, of sadism, of evil; proof that the concept of humanity is worth cherishing and preserving.

"They're not human," explained Mosley. "Besides, you were planning on destroying their world, which means the kid was gonna die anyway. I feel horrible about all this too, but we don't have time to sit and mope. Speaking of time, what were you up to these last two days?"

"They shut down the DW," said Peter, "so I couldn't –"

"You have NO right to keep me here!" barked Gordon in the background, still obsessively rubbing at the healed needle mark on his forearm.

Mosley eyed him it irritation and shrugged, turning his attention to Peter. "So, did you figure out how to blow the Watchers up in sixty minutes or less?"

"I don't know," said Peter. "If we set the chain reaction, Walter would still need time to close the Wormhole, and of course, they could easily stop him. Unless... Unless if they _can't_ reach him! Of course, why haven't I thought of that before?"

"What do you mean 'if they can't reach him'?" asked Mosley. "Apart from one's own dreams, there's nowhere you could hide from the Watchers!"

"Who said anything about hiding?" grinned Peter in intellectual triumph. "What I meant was that they can't reach him if they're stuck somewhere. What if we were able to trap them all inside their Homeworld until Walter closes the Wormhole once and for all?"

Mosley let out an audible exhalation. "The Colossal Threshold!"

"Exactly! But first, we need to gather them all inside their World somehow."

"What? You really think they can't escape their own world?" Mosley flexed his eyebrows, shooting Peter an '_are you dreaming?_' look. "They can travel between dimensions and through time. They'll figure how to break free in no time once they find out they've been trapped."

"They can travel through time in this world and other realities, one of which being the home to the mad scientist that created them," explained Peter. "But I don't think they'd be able to do the same inside the world they've created as a temporary shelter, a world where time runs at a different rate. The Homeworld of the Observers is an artificial construct attached to both this world and the one beside it; September himself told me that. Traveling between dimensions consists of two constants, Time and Space, which means that if they attempt to travel to another reality while being in their world, they would ordinarily shift to the same location in the adjacent world, but since their _own_ world has no natural contemporaries... Are you following me?"

Mosley raised his eyebrows. "Okay, this sounds promising! So, if they're stuck on the other side of the Wormhole, they'll be completely helpless. Funny; they've created a world where their apparent _omni_potence has brought them nothing but _im_potence."

He nudged towards Peter, revelling in his fluke of wordplay mastery.

"Yeah, yeah, funny boy," said Peter. "I guess they've inadvertently dug their own grave. At least, I hope."

"Still, I don't see how we could get _all_ of them in that particular grave at the same time."

"Neither do I, but there has to be something…."

"Hey, you!" Mosley gestured toward Raymond. "When you were tracking down Watchers, have you ever seen them gathering around the portal that leads to their world? Perhaps on some special occasion or something?"

"Yes," said Gordon, with that deranged stare that characterized him. "I remember when they gathered two years ago; many of them, actually. It takes no more than a few minutes for them to assemble in the location I guided you to. I don't know why they decided to meet last time, but the reason seemed huge nevertheless."

"So, it_ can _happen?" questioned Mosley.

"Indeed. But first, an important event has to occur for them to arrange for such meeting, something _very_ important."

"Like if one of them got killed?" suggested Peter.

"Yes, yes!" Raymond stood up, excited. Mosley shoved him back down. The colonel composed himself, clearing his throat. "They place great value on their own kind, and each other; after all, they operate as a collective. I reckon it would wreck a hell of a havoc should one of their own get assassinated by a mere _human_."

"And yet, they don't have any problems killing each other," whispered Peter, January's innocent face flashing before him.

David studied him for a moment. "It's a great opportunity, though. Think about it; you'll get to avenge your friend, right?"

"Right!" agreed Peter at length. "Let's go hunt us some Observers!"

Peter rose with gusto, smile washing away the weariness in his face.

"Wait, how are you going to close the Colossal Threshold?" asked Mosley.

Peter glanced over his shoulder. "Leave that to me."

"No way, are you crazy?" shrieked Mosley. "Controlling the Colossal Threshold is much more complicated than you think. And you'll need a password if you try to close it."

"You seem to know an awful lot about the Threshold," noted Peter. "You think you'll be able to help me?"

"Of course I can. Thing is, I won't be around to instruct you on how to use it."

"We'll have to find a way to communicate," sighed Peter, sitting down again.

"You can use their weird little communication modules," yawned the colonel, looking bored.

Mosley squinted at him, then quickly at Peter. "As much as I hate to say it, I think he's right; their cell phones can be used to communicate between the two sides of the Wormhole. We're going to need two of them, though. How are we going to get some?"

"Well, if each of them has its own cell phone," began Peter, "we can steal it from the Observer we target. As for the second one, I'll try to nab one while sneaking to the Threshold's control room."

"I don't see how you'll be able to get there without screwing up, but I think I can place my trust in your abilities...I think. Anyway, once we get the first one, I'll show you how to use it. Now, how do we kill one of the Watchers?" said Mosley, placing particular emphasis on _Watchers_.

"Since I'm technically a projection, our Watcher of choice won't be able to see me, so he won't expect me to steal his gun, right?" suggested Peter smugly, rising an eyebrow.

This time, Mosley didn't complain about the plausibility of Peter's performance; instead, he grinned widely. "I have to say, I' really liking this plan. Let's go slay some no-browed freak, shall we?"

"You're not going anywhere, David," mumbled Peter as he left the room. "I am."

Mosley grabbed his shoulder. "Like hell I'm not going with you! You think I'm going to let you have _all_ the fun?"

"It's too dangerous, especially for someone who's not invisible," replied Peter. The Observers would easily detect anyone's presence; there was no way he was letting Mosley accompany him.

Mosley opened his mouth to complain, but eventually sat down, seemingly convinced.

"Okay, fine! But what do we do about _him_?"

They both looked to their guest, who stopped mumbling to himself, upon noticing he was being watched.

"Huh? What are _you two_ looking at?" inquired Gordon, as his captors shared a nod of silent understanding that made him _very_ uncomfortable.

**Blue Universe. Patient's Quarters.**

"You sinners! Unhand me at once!"

"I guess you must have escaped during the recent security incident," said Doctor Sumner. "We were fortunate to have we found you lying outside the institute's main entrance."

Colonel Gordon struggled against the straps confining him in the chair, forcing his arm outright.

"Obviously, the previous dosage of medication wasn't quite enough to keep you _calm_," continued Sumner. "So we're going to be administering a very _special _blend from now on."

One of Sumner's aides revealed a syringe whose needle was far longer than he was accustomed to. And as the aide closed in on him with the long needle, Gordon let out terrified shrieks as his irrational phobia paralyzed his mind.

"Don't worry, Mister Gordon," said Sumner with a reassuring smile. "Everything's going to be _just_ fine."

TBC...

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><p>I know, I know! January is dead! Fauxlivia too! But, hey, they have a plan!<p>

I hope you enjoyed, this is close to be finished, thanks for reading and please please review!


	15. Son

**Sorry for the delay, this week has been a bit tense, anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**there are aproximatly three chapters left! Let's see if the plan works!  
><strong>

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><p><strong>CHAPITRE XV<strong>

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><p><em>"It is not flesh and blood, but heart which makes us fathers and sons." - Friedrich von Schiller<em>

**Redverse. Liberty Island**. **Prison Wing.**

Brandon gazed the white walls over-anxiously, hoping his fixation would somehow perforate a path out of his retched cell.

The Secretary had betrayed him; he promised to help him avenge his beloved Merya, but he instead cooperated with the very people who caused her terrible demise.

He had never regretted his actions, not even once. He had to prevent the two sides from working together. The Secretary always condemned the inhumanity of their alternate selves, and if Doctor Walter Bishop was deluded enough as to believe their lies, then he promised himself to never be that vulnerable.

He heard a clung of the lock on the door before it cracked open, revealing the Secretary's imposing figure; his muscles shivered as he tried to control his breathing.

"Sir, I still don't understand the reason you're keeping me here," spluttered Brandon, swallowing back his climbing heart.

"As I kept an eye on my enemies, I let my back exposed for those close to me to stab," said the Secretary, his face sending spikes of terror through Brandon. "I always held you in the highest regards, Brandon; you've always been loyal to me. In fact, I considered you as one of the few friends I have left. And yet, after all I had done for you, you had the audacity to betray me."

"Sir, you shouldn't have assisted those... those _monsters_," pleaded Brandon. "They've changed you. They've lead you to believe-"

"David Robert Jones," stated the Secretary plainly. "I want the whole story. The reason you cooperated with him, the way you communicated with each other, his current whereabouts, and, most importantly, why you chose to betray my trust."

The Secretary seemed to know everything about his involvement with Robert Jones, so there was little use in feigning innocence any longer. "I betrayed _you_? You were the one who promised to avenge losses of our beloved ones. Your son, Merya–"

"So it's all about Merya, is it?" retorted the Secretary, eyes burning with blatant fury. "You have left me no choice."

Two guards entered the cell, and Brandon's heart beat madly as his eyes spied Merya's form being dragged between them.

Brandon panted heavily. "Sir, please, don't hurt her! I...I'll tell you everything!"

"You betrayed me for a Shapeshifter, Brandon?" noted the Secretary; his look alone told Brandon that his payback would be very expensive.

Hoping it would save the woman he'd loved – the woman whose death he would not allow to prevent from seeing her – Brandon spoke.

"Sir, when you began to cooperate with the Other Side... I felt that our retribution would never be achieved. I got furious. I created my own lab, made some subtle modifications on the standard Shapeshifter model, and had them work under my command."

"Why did you choose to work with Jones?" pressed the Secretary. "What could you possibly gain in killing innocent people from your own world?"

Brandon swallowed, averting the Secretary's piercing gaze. "I've known Jones for a long time. When the Bridge Room was created, he shared his plans with me, and I immediately agreed, offering what was necessary for his operation."

At that moment, the Secretary lost his temper he tried so hard to contain. He grabbed Brandon's shirt and struck a harsh blow with the back of his hand with explosive motion. "YOU agreed on killing innocent people who belong to YOUR side!" bellowed the Secretary at Brandon's cowering form on the floor with a loathsome scowl. "If you think _this _is retribution, then I invite you to reconsider which one of us is _truly_ deluded!"

Brandon's eyes watered as he couldn't find the urge to lock them with Merya's. "As terrible as it might sound, the people who died over here were acceptable losses."

Walternate's eyes flared, but Brandon brought his hands up in an attempt to appease him.

"No, no! T-The plan consisted on replacing them by victims brought over from the Other Side. By doing so, the other world's total mass would gradually diminish; it would then simply be a matter of time before their world began to unravel, especially considering its current situation."

The secretary lifted Brandon and shoved him hard; his back slammed against the back wall of the cell. "I should have expected this from you," said the Secretary.

"Sir, please! Try to understand –"

"Where is Jones?" The Secretary pulled out his gun and aimed it at Merya. "I won't ask twice."

"I lost contact with him," said Brandon, unaware that he was grasping towards the facsimile of his dead love, "so he should currently be trying to find his own way to cross between universes."

"WHERE?"

The Secretary pressed the pistol at the back of Merya's skull.

"Reiden Lake, sir!" said Brandon, lips quavering uncontrollably. "He's going to Reiden Lake!"

**Blueverse. A run-down building. Boston.**

Peter held his breath as a bald, suited man abruptly appeared before him.

He knew the Wormhole's mouth would be the perfect place to track down Observers. He had been waiting for awhile at that point, and after a period of tense silence, the opportunity had presented itself at last. He stood frozen for several seconds, wondering if he would indeed be able to accomplish what he had come to do.

To steal a Watcher's Black Weapon and use it against him.

He pictured how September usually wields his magic gun; analyzing the possible ways he could be attacked, Peter closed the distance between him and the targeted Observer. With great caution, he reached his hand into the folds of the Observer's suit before fumbling inside his inner pockets.

The Watcher instantly froze, bringing his hand swiftly across his chest to ward off the anomalous sensation; but Peter had already snatched out the weapon and backed away from him. Though his face remained placid, the suited man's eyes fully widened at the sight of his weapon suspended in midair.

He positioned the pistol between his hands and quickly aimed it at the still-dazed Watcher. His fingers quavered slightly as a bizarre sensation ran through his veins; he knew then with absolute certainty that the Black Weapon was indeed made for him.

He stared the Watcher down, his grandfather's words reiterated at the back of his mind, and all of a sudden, Robert's letter started to make perfect sense.

_...There is a great power hidden deep within you..._

He could feel the power, coursing, pulsing throughout his being.

_...You must seek to harness this power…_

He focused on his target, trying to contain the unbelievable power being channeled to the pistol, energy so potent that he struggled to steady his aim.

_...and wield it righteously against the ones who predict and cannot be predicted._

The Watcher abruptly slid out an eerie cell phone and started pressing the keys, an act that caused Peter to immediately pull the trigger. Panting, he backed away several feet; his jaw slumped in shock at the stunning result.

The Watcher laid on the ground, hand loosening its grip on the cell phone. The Black Weapon's massive discharge had burned a hole through his abdomen and torso; his vital organs must have all been incinerated by the blast, if the size of the smoking cavity was of any indication.

Peter shut his eyes, repressing a sigh. He wondered whether he should be experiencing guilt for killing someone he never knew; but Petr thought it best to refrain from feeling anything at all. There was still work to be done, and he could not hesitate until he saw it through to the end.

He grabbed the cell phone lying at the Watcher's side and made his way to the lab, his steps fueled by six weeks of accumulated fury.

**Blueverse. Kresge Building. **

Olivia watched as Astrid set out to sort beakers and containers on the adjacent table. Walter was speaking to no one in particular in the background, focusing on placing the final touches on the prototype of the device he and his double had engineered.

She had considered crossing over to the other universe and teaching Brandonate a lesson he would never forget, but the way Walternate looked when he left hours ago told her to wait; she imagined the Secretary would do more than what was necessary to extract information from Brandonate.

Olivia was lost in a chaos of thought until Walter began humming more coherent words; she recognized the classical-era piece he was chanting as he recited an odd set of lyrics to the tune.

"Give him the keys," hummed the old scientist. "Save the girl! Save the girl..."

He jerked his head up, staring at the distance and chuckling soundlessly.

Olivia's eyes went wide as she heard him sneer. "Peter isn't so fond of my singing skills; it drives him mad when I chant as he sleeps."

_Peter?_ It couldn't have been mere coincidence; Broyles had more than once mentioned how she had repeatedly called the name over and over during her breakdown two days ago.

..._Peter_...

She approached him. "Uh, Walter? Who's Peter?"

"My son," said the scientist, simpering nostalgically.

_Peter Bishop?_

Dread washed over Walter's smirking features.

"Oh, uh, but I'm just _teasing_ you, Agent Dunham," he said with forced laughter. "Yes, of course! I obviously don't _really_ have a son, even though I've always wanted one. I'm still quite lucid, my dear; there's nothing to worry about."

He was clearly terrified at the idea of being sent back to Saint-Claire's for saying such outrageous things. Olivia reached her hand, gently patting his shoulder.

"Walter, there is nothing to be afraid of. Broyles told me that I've been muttering the same name. Peter Bishop. I just can't remember –"

"Peter?" gasped Walter.

"Yes, Walter. I apparently collapsed and started repeating that name."

"What happened next?" urged Walter, grabbing her shoulders in a tight grip.

Olivia shot him an intent look; his fervent insistence had her worried more than anything else. "Nothing. I woke up and forgot it happened until Broyles told me."

"Told you _what_?"

In their heated conversation, she hadn't even noticed Broyles' presence.

"Uh, it's about Peter Bishop, Sir," she explained, her eyes still watching Walter. "The name you mentioned two days ago."

"As it so happens," replied Broyles, "that's why I'm here."

"What do you know?" snapped Walter, both keen and perplexed. Olivia mirrored his intense stare, eager to fill in the blanks her mind failed to decipher.

"I've retrieved some objects of interest from Massive Dynamic." He opened a pasty white briefcase – Massive Dynamic's colour of preference – and fetched strange device reminiscent of a cell phone, as well as the unforgettable pistol Mr. X had used on her.

"These were retrieved from Agent Max's body at the Fleming-Monroe site. I brought them to Massive Dynamic for examination, and Nina has confirmed that they have never seen such technology, nor had a hand in their development."

He turned his attention to Walter, handing him the technology. "Doctor Bishop," he began, "we suspect that these have most likely been invented by a foreign, highly intelligent entity. Do you have any ideas on where they could have come from, or what their functions might be?"

Walter examined the sleek pistol. "There's no doubt that this is a weapon; I think its function is self-evident."

"I wouldn't say that, exactly," explained Broyles. "Max shot Agent Dunham with this gun, and although it looks nothing like a stunning device, it seems that its function is to incapacitate the target in non-lethal ways."

"No, I don't think that's it either," noted Olivia. "Although I have trouble recalling that moment, I distinctly remember Max mentioning something about memories."

Walter squinted worriedly at Olivia. "When did he shoot you, exactly? Was it after or before you mentioned the name _Peter_?"

"Her breakdown happened moments before the undercover mission," replied Broyles. "Why? Do you think it could mean something?"

Walter didn't reply; he instead continued his meticulous inspection of the weapon.

The lab door then swung open; its creak broke through the silence and all three jumped at once.

"Jones is going to Reiden Lake," announced Walternate as he approached the trio. "He's trying to cross over to the other side. Brandon was assisting him before he was apprehended."

Olivia and Broyles exchanged a determined glare.

"We need to go, now," ordered Broyles. "Thank you, Mister Secretary."

"I'm coming too," announced Walter who rose briskly.

Olivia stopped him. "Walter, it's too dangerous."

"Please, Agent Dunham. I need to go."

She sighed, squinting at Broyles, who nodded in authorization. "Alright, Walter."

"Thank you, Agent Dunham!" said Walter, gripping the pistol tightly as he followed the rest out the lab door.

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><p><strong>Well, how was Walter's reveal about his rememberance of his son? <strong>

**And, yay! One observer is killed!**

**Thanks for my lovely reviewer Amy, and for my sweet Beta reader Uroboros75!  
><strong>


	16. Good Bye

**There is goes, The final chapters!  
><strong>

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><p><strong>CHAPITRE XVI<br>**

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><p><em>"The family is a haven in a heartless world." Christopher Lasch<em>

**Blueverse. Reiden Lake. Hours later.**

It was never an easy thing to track someone down in the dead of night; especially if this someone happened to be David Robert Jones.

Olivia gazed through the windshield, scanning for movement in the darkness. Broyles had assigned a strike team to surround the area and standby, all the while keeping a safe distance from the location Jones would probably seek: the crack in reality Walter had created many years ago.

"Peter!" barked Walter suddenly, still carrying Max's otherworldly weapon. "Oh, God…I-I stole him! I went and took him from the Other –"

"Walter, keep it down!" hushed Olivia, eyes wandering gingerly, studying the area to make sure Walter hadn't betrayed their position. "What are you talking about?"

"Somehow, I knew I had to come here," murmured Walter, sobbing hurtfully. "I have the distinct sense that I lost someone I knew and loved, that you knew and loved as well; but the more I dwell on this, the more I feel myself slipping away." He gripped her shoulder, and the look of pain he shot her sent a shudder through her limbs. "Am I losing my sanity again, Agent Dunham?"

Puzzled, Olivia locked eyes with him. "Walter, what do you mean by _'someone I knew and loved'_?"

"There is something at work here," he explained, "something I cannot quite explain. But it's there; I can feel it. It's been eluding me for some time now." He lifted the pistol, eying it with a certain sense of longing. "But at last, I think I may have found the solution."

Olivia raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I follow."

"The gun! I think I know how to reverse its function."

"Why would you want do that?" asked Olivia.

Walter seemed poised to answer, but conceded.

"Oh, never mind," he stated, grinning knowingly. "Just making conversation."

"If you say so," said Olivia, opening the door and readying her weapon. "Broyles had radio silence instated, so I'm going to have a look outside and see if he has come up with anything. Stay in the car, okay?"

"Why are you whispering, Olivia?" murmured Walter more to himself than to Olivia as he began studying buttons he seemed to have just discovered on the lower side of Max's weapon.

Olivia crouched around the car, careful not to make noise. She spotted Broyles' vehicle some distance away; seeing this, she decided against the notion of reaching him, since Walter would be unprotected in the event things got heavy.

No sooner could she complete the thought that three men appeared out of thin air, followed by Jones. She immediately tensed and raised her gun at Jones, determined to pull the trigger, determined to kill him or at least wound him, not caring that she could get injured or die in the process.

"Relax, Agent Dunham," Jones smirked. "I have no intention of harming you."

"What do you want?" inquired Olivia, her finger pressed slightly on the trigger.

She didn't have to wait long for an answer. Two guards opened the door of her car and snatched a bewildered Walter from inside. Max's gun dropped on the ground with a thud, finding respite from Walter's tight grip for the first time in hours.

"Wha – What's happening?" quavered the scientist.

"We require your expertise, Doctor Bishop," stated Jones. "You're going to work with us now." Jones gestured to his goons. "Take him."

"Hold it right there!" ordered Olivia. "I'm not letting you take him anywhere."

Jones grinned wider. "I appreciate your courage, Agent Dunham. Really, I do. However, I would have never thought you would be so easily duped. Brandon must have executed his job perfectly, telling you the exact location I chose, the site where this all began. It's a place I was sure Walter Bishop would've loved to visit, since it reminds him of his irreparable affront against nature; and here he is, just as I thought he would. It's just like Brandon said: Walter Bishop is a man who revels in his own guilt."

_So it _was _Brandon, _thought Olivia. _That son of a bitch!_

She tensed as the men dragged Walter away. He struggled helplessly, calling her name over and over, pleading for help.

"Why are you doing this, Jones?" snapped Olivia, hoping she could buy more time. "Two entire universes are unraveling as we speak, and you're willing to accelerate the destruction process by tearing more gaps? Why?"

Jones peeled his lips, but didn't quite smile; it was more of a mocking shrug. "It pains me to realize how pathetic you have proven to be, Agent Dunham. Life is too short to burden ourselves with the inevitable fate of our worlds. I'm planning to enjoy what life I have left while you offer yours for the sake of protecting individuals who ultimately don't matter in the grand scheme of things."

"People on both universes are sacrificing themselves," said Olivia. "They are working together to fix –"

"And yet, I see no sign of improvement," retorted Jones. "If anything, things are getting worse. People are still dying, the universes are still decaying, and I am still taking Doctor Bishop with me."

He smirked, raising his gun so that it pointed directly at her forehead. The sound of a gunshot filled the air.

And Jones fell motionless before Olivia moment later, blood streaming down his chest. The site was soon flooded with dozens of agents that effortlessly overpowered Jones' men, freeing Walter as they did. As she got a better look at the uniforms the agents wore, she noticed they bore a Fringe Division logo. Her theory was confirmed when she spotted Walternate emerging from the darkened forest, gun still raised.

"Thank you, Sir," breathed Olivia. The Secretary had just saved her life.

"Apologies for not notifying you that I would be coming," explained Walternate, "but there wasn't any time."

She gazed at him, wondering if he knew that the other Brandon had tricked them."Sir, how did you know to come here?"

"I didn't quite believe his story," muttered the Secretary, staring blindly at something only he could see, "so I went back to his cell shortly after you left for Reiden Lake. He gave a full confession after I plugged a couple of bullets through his beloved Shapeshifter."

Olivia blinked, and although she had no idea what the Secretary was talking about, she continued listening. The Secretary rambled on in an impassioned rant; it seemed as though he needed to get things off his chest, and that Olivia happened to be in his path was a simple matter of convenience. She figured Brandon's betrayal must have done a serious number on him.

His eyes darkened as he finished. "That pitiable traitor! What's even more pitiable is that soon after I finished the interrogation, he committed suicide. He managed to procure the gun I used to put his Shapeshifter out of her misery, and shot himself, unable to cope with the loss. He took the coward's way out, a fate befitting the coward he was in life!"

Olivia stared in restrained bafflement; the Secretary showing his dark side in defending both universes was something she had yet to acclimatize to.

An awkward moment of silence followed, only to be torn by the whirring discharge of Max's gun. All members stared as Walter's body hit the floor, unconscious.

"He…shot himself?" asked the secretary, astonished.

"With Max's gun," finished Olivia, sharing his confusion.

**Harvard University. Kresge Building. Boston.**

Mosley stared at Peter, distraught at the man's grim features.

He fingered the Watcher's cell phone as Peter handed it back. "So, it's all worked out? You'll be able to contact me from the other side of the Wormhole once you get yours?"

"Yes," confirmed Peter.

Peter's answer was shorter than Mosley expected it to be. He sighed. "Are you okay?"

Peter swallowed, his eyes hardened. "I'm fine."

They walked down the hall toward the old lab, the sound of their footfalls barely suppressing the awkward silence that shadowed them.

"By the way, what's with the strawberry milkshake you asked me to buy for you?" whispered Mosley, careful not to speak any louder for fear that the others would hear them as they stood before the lab's door.

Mosley continued studying Peter, who seemed to be struggling to utter a reply. If he wanted the paper to be sent to his father, he could have had just written his name on it; in Mosley's mind, procuring the milkshake was an unnecessary detour.

"It's a gift," said Peter quietly. His voice croaked as continued. "For Walt – my _father_."

Mosley found himself unable to formulate any sentence that could comfort him; both remained silent as Peter lowered himself, placing the small box on the floor near the entrance to the lab. They then exited the building, Peter wearing the same mask of chilling calmness, and once outside, there came the inevitable parting of ways.

"Don't forget to call your father as soon as you get to New York so that he can find out about the box," said Mosley. "After that, you'll only have sixty minutes."

Peter merely nodded.

"So, are you going to be able to do it?" spluttered Mosley, feeling stupid for saying awkward things in awkward situations. "Uh, I mean… I'm counting on you to succeed in reaching the Colossal Threshold control room."

Peter squinted at him. "It's the only thing I'd do without having to question the reason behind it. So, yeah, I think I'll make it."

Mosley nodded, still scanning the storm of emotions displayed on Peter's face.

"This is the only reason I exist anymore," whispered Peter. "It's something that I'm supposed to do. And according to my grandfather, I was meant to do this long before I was born. This is the way things are supposed to be, I guess." Peter tuned away. "I don't expect to see you again, so whatever happens, it's been a pleasure, David Mosley. I'll contact you once I get there."

Mosley blinked, suddenly realizing how badly Peter was trying to hide how much it hurt him to give himself to something greater than himself without anyone ever acknowledging his sacrifice, let alone give him the support he wished he had.

"They'll all remember what you did," he said to Peter, who stopped. "I'll see to that myself."

Peter glanced over his shoulder with a soft smile. "Thanks. Um, well…" He turned to face Mosley, swallowed hard as he tried to word something. "I mean, when you do, tell Walter and Olivia that I loved them both. Tell them… that they changed my life. They gave me something I never thought I deserved experiencing. Family."

"You go it," said Mosley. "That's what friends are for, right?"

Mosley contemplated the word he'd just voiced. _Friends_. He smirked, nodding to himself; he didn't know when it happened, but somewhere along the line, David Mosley and Peter Bishop had become friends.

"Right." Peter's smile showed more than just an appreciation to this bizarre, yet strong friendship that developed between them over the past few weeks. "Take care, man."

"Wait!" called Mosley. "There's one last thing. It wasn't you, was it? You were trying to protect her, the same way you did when the Watchers decided to kill her."

Reluctant, Peter turned slowly. "You mean…you know?"

"Yeah," he replied.

Whenever Peter disappeared, he continued to conduct his investigation into his brother's murder, despite Peter revealing himself as the culprit; he needed to make sure. He paid a visit to the Federal Building, where he found some evidence pointing to Olivia; coincidentally, it was the day he met her, and, now knowing the strength of the bond that existed between those two, Mosley understood why Peter was willing to go to such lengths to protect her.

"I was wrong about you," Mosley said. "You're a good man, Peter Bishop; I suppose it's the reason why you're the one facing the Watchers and not anyone else."

Peter smiled. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself."

Mosley nodded, and Peter left, leaving his partner behind.

**Harvard University. Kresge Building. Boston. An hour later.**

"I don't understand!" shouted Walter. "He's my _son_! How could we all have forgotten about him?"

Olivia had a hard time making sense of Walter's ranting since he had regained consciousness. He became outraged all of a sudden and started thrashing and throwing things around in the lab, blaming everyone – including himself – for not remembering someone he called _Peter_.

"You shouldn't have shot yourself with the gun, Walter," she said, bracing herself for what erratic reaction might ensue.

"You don't understand!" yelled Walter. "No, no! I told you that I modified the weapon, just like I told you about the day you slept with my son, Peter! How could you forget all of this?"

"Walter, calm down," exhaled Olivia. There was something about Walter's words that made sense, but it really proved hard to believe what he was claiming.

"Walter!" Astrid's voice broke through the building tension, "Someone just called. He said they left a gift for you outside the door. Guess what I found."

She placed a small red box on the table, which was already opened.

"Did you open it?" questioned Olivia.

"It was already like that when I found it. Take look at what's inside."

Walter reached inside the box, fetching a cup of strawberry milkshake and a small piece of paper.

"A seahorse," affirmed the scientist as he studied the old paper. "And some strawberry milkshake! How delightful!" Walter's eyes lit up. "It's Peter! It has to be! He's trying to communicate with us!"

"Walter?" asked Olivia.

"We need to carry out these instructions as soon as we can!" he exclaimed. "Call Walternate! There's a Wormhole we need to seal! We don't have much time."

Olivia stared blankly as Walter hurried toward his office. There were so many questions, so many things she wanted to know; the frustration was almost unbearable.

Astrid's face turned to utter shock as Olivia grabbed Max's gun and pulled the trigger on herself, falling to the floor in an unconscious heap.

TBC...

* * *

><p>Here, they're finally going to remember! Mr. X's gun wasn't that bad after all. Okay, let the Final clash begin!<p>

Next chapter is set in the Observers homeworld! And pretty much focused on the bald guys! well, Peter killed one of them and set the chain reaction, they're gonna be pretty pissed with him!

Thanks to **Amy **for the encouraging comments, and my beta-reader** Uroboros75**.


	17. The last Clash

**Hey! New chapter in the Observers home world!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPITRE XVII<br>**

* * *

><p><em>"It pains me that such a burden was entrusted to you. Truly, it does. And I cannot imagine what pain you will undergo because of this; but you must not waver in your conviction.<em>"

_Quote from Robert Bishop's letter_**.  
><strong>

**The Watcher Homeworld. Peter's Cell.**

Peter jerked his head up with strong determination as he found his way back to consciousness. The first thing he saw was January's apparent replacement, a bald man studying him carefully from behind the transparent force field. He knew what he had to do before his last clash began; he would have to suppress his thoughts.

Bracing himself, he hobbled towards the invisible shield and collapsed before his hands could reach the surface. Peter peeked for a second with half-open eyes, and watched as the Watcher stared calmly before using a remote controller of some kind to deactivate the shield.

After his last fight with September, Peter realized how vulnerable an Observer could be once his foe has proven to be unpredictable, a realization that only came after a long day of reflection and contemplation. The Observer strolled toward him, seeking to ascertain the prisoner's condition, and Peter focused singularly about Olivia and Walter in an attempt to convince the Watcher that he was unconscious.

He threw his hand forward the moment the Watcher came close enough, reaching for his hand in order to pry the shield control module from him. As expected, the suited man anticipated this move and launched his arm to stop the human's outstretched arm. But in a flash, Peter's hand changed its destination and reached for the Observers' pocket, snatching the Black Weapon in a single deft stroke, a move that left the Watcher perplexed.

Steadying the gun, Peter smiled in unconstrained pride. "I guess we humans must be pretty special if we can easily out maneuver the Watchers, huh?"

The Observer cocked his head. "Your actions are unpredictable because your reasoning is irrational. You know very well that humans cannot power our weapons. This is a futile move on your part. But I will not stop you from attempting to wield it, if it will appease you."

Peter couldn't suppress the smile that made its way onto his face. This was the element of surprise he was hoping to capitalize on when he learned the Watchers had yet to learn he was able to operate the Black Weapons.

Today was the day the Watchers would regret underestimating him.

After a moment of concentration, the flow of energy returned to him, and it was all unleashed as he pulled the trigger. Following the discharge, Peter took a moment to steady his breathing, and with a last glance at the smoking form on the ground, he retrieved the Watcher's cell phone and made his way out of the cell.

The corridors were curiously devoid of activity; he surmised that it had something to do with the Observer he killed on the other side of the Wormhole. He trudged forward, staggering and swaying, encouraging his body to comply as he made his way toward the red door in the all too familiar circular room.

Once there, Peter didn't bother trying to open it; he instead used the Black Weapon to blast a hole into the metallic door, one big enough to allow him access to the control room.

Taking a long breath, he passed through the smoking hole, making sure not to touch the searing, charred edges, unsure what he would find there.

**The Watcher Homeworld. Senior Council Chamber.**

"As you all know, a human has killed one of our own," December stated.

October felt content, almost humanly so; it was a sensation he found to be undesirable. For so long, his people have sought to surpass their human origins, origins they perceived as inferior, and anything that reminded them of that species was something they disliked; even their resemblance with them brought something that could be likened to shame.

But he thought that perhaps his satisfaction was justified. As soon as the current meeting was adjourned, the Seniors were going to initiate him as a legitimate Senior himself for anticipating the threat Peter Bishop posed. October had voiced his concerns on many occasions that this human could be a possible candidate for the Black Weapon operator they had been searching for, but the Seniors ultimately rejected what they perceived to be an unsubstantiated claim.

"We must locate the individual responsible for this act a once," June stated. "I offer myself to head the search operation."

"I must disagree," countered September. "If this human is capable of killing one of us, he poses a great danger to all of us, and to face them ourselves would bring unnecessary risk. It would be better to have our human followers search for the individual in our stead."

"All in favor of September's proposed course of action?" inquired December.

All present raised their hand.

"It is decided, then," said December. "No one is to leave the Homeworld until the human assailant has been located and apprehended."

**The Watcher HomeWorld. Colossal Threshold Control Room.**

"_You did it? I can't believe you did it! Nice work!"_

Mosley's bellowing voice confirmed that the communication lines had been successfully established.

"I don't have much time before they figure out I escaped," said Peter. "There are plenty machines here. Where am I supposed to start?"

After fifteen minutes of frustrated shouting and meticulous instruction, Peter was finally able to initiate the shutdown protocol for the Colossal Threshold. Once that was done, Mosley guided him to the interface where the failsafe key was to be entered to prevent the Observers from overriding the shutdown process. There, Mosley recited to Peter the password he had painstakingly memorized; they both agreed that it was too dangerous for Peter to learn the password himself since the Watchers could easily retrieve it from his mind.

Once that was done, a circular diagram appeared on the interface, denoting the progress of the Threshold's shutdown process.

"Hey, David!" said Peter. "You there?"

"_Yes, sir!"_

"Okay, listen to me," he said. "I want you make up a random password and recite the digits to me."

"What for?"

"Even though I don't know the real password by heart, the digits you gave me are still fresh in my mind," said Peter, "so they still might be able to retrieve the password from my subconscious. If you give me a false password to memorize, I'll forget the original one while they bust their backs trying to retrieve the false one, which will be fresher in my mind."

"_That's not too bad an idea, actually,"_ agreed Mosley. _"You're a pretty sharp guy, Peter."_

"I.Q. of 190," replied Peter. "Comes in handy now and again."

Mosley recited a random string of number and letters, which Peter repeating the sequence in an attempt to engrave it in his mind. Once done, Mosley continued to relay his instructions.

"_Alright, now I'm going to show you how to shut down the communication networks."_

"Communication Networks?"

"_The Watchers have human followers working under their commands," _explained Mosley at a fast pace._ "With the communication networks, they could contact their followers and order them to modify the chain reaction you set into motion. Quick! There should be a small module in the control room that kind of looks like a seahorse. Do you see it?"_

Peter swiveled his head in search of the object in question. It was indeed reminiscent of a seahorse; he attributed its design to his father, though he had no idea how one of Walter's devices ended up there.

"Okay, I found it."

"_Alright, now wreck it as bad as you can. It should take around ten minutes for the network to collapse completely. It would take the Watchers at least a week to fix it, so they won't be able to do anything about it before it's too late for them."_

He did as Mosley told him, feeding Black Weapon energy into the module. He froze instantly as a deafening whirring sound resonated through the walls; the Nexus Operator was alerting the Watchers of the deviation from their Master Plan.

Seconds later, the ground beneath Peter's feet shook again as yet another sound wave slammed against his ears. He continued to monitor the screens before him, displaying numerous streams of data and lights that indicated the succession of the Colossal Threshold's sealing process.

"_What was that?"_ yelled Mosley. "_What's happening up ther_e?"

Peter let out a hysterical laugh as the circular progress dial neared completion. "That, my friend, is the sound of our victory!"

"_What do you mean? Did it work?"_

"Hell yeah, it did!"

Peter let a breath he never knew he was holding. The weight that burdened his chest and shoulders eased, and he grinned, oblivious to the euphoric tears streaming down his cheeks. He leaned his back against the nearest wall and let himself slide down until he was stopped by the hard floor. He exhaled on hardly stifled grins, panting in unbelievable relief.

He could hear Mosley's victorious shouts and comments on the other end of the line. If it weren't for the weakness of his physical state, he would have considered dancing madly, even if it proved to be the last thing he ever did.

Mosley's words suddenly clogged and fizzle out as the communication network was completely disabled. The Watchers were bound to show up in the control room sooner or later, and this time, he would welcome their arrival with open arms; for more than anything did he long to savor the look of defeat on the faces of Observer kind.

**The Watcher Homeworld. Peter's cell. Half an hour later.**

They brought a table, along with some strange machines. They strapped him down, and stuck wires and various nodes to his forehead, arms, and fingers.

They were trying to extract the Colossal Threshold's override password from him, and have resorted to desperate measures to do so.

Let them try, thought Peter. Let them try until they tired and left him to finally die in peace.

TBC...

* * *

><p>See, The Colossal Threshold is shut down and the observers are stuck in their home world ... Ahh, victory...<p>

I know... This chapter lacked our team's reaction to Peter's disapearence, but I saved that to next chapter, after all, time is faster in our world, so it hadn't been long after their remembrance yet, right?

hang in there, there are still surprises to come! two chapters to go, for sure this time! XD


	18. The arrival

**New Chapter! Enjoy!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPITRE XVIII<strong>

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><p><em>"Life is struggle, and in death we pass on this struggle to our sons and daughters, and they to the children that succeed them."<em>_ - Quote from Robert Bishop's letter._**_  
><em>**

**The Watcher Homeworld. Corridors. An hour later.**

It was chaos, disorder on a scale his people had never experienced; October could not find words appropriate enough to describe what he was witnessing.

He watched members of his proud race running in all direction, footsteps echoing frantically and dashing in panicked throngs in direction of the Colossal Threshold, scurrying about in a way so human-like that he found the scene to be disturbing.

The Senior council meeting didn't end the way he would have liked; in fact, it didn't have a chance to end at all, for the Nexus Operator's alarm system suddenly resounded, signifying deviations in the Master Plan and bringing an swift end to their deliberations. To make matters worse, they soon learned that whatever plans were left untold in the meeting would have been futile anyway, thanks to a most shocking discovery; not only was the human capable of operating their technology hiding in plain sight that whole time, he managed to dupe them all and was able to negate their Master Plan entirely. He sealed off the Colossal Threshold, and just as the Seniors feared, he set off a chain reaction that would culminate in the destruction of the Homeworld.

He gazed onward at his brethren, continuing to run with a madness they had never known.

In their short history, humans had crossed many lines they should not have crossed, causing countless disasters. They had no regards for the laws of nature, and they could not even abide by the rules they set for themselves.

Humanity was the harbinger of its own demise.

The Watchers refused to be so careless with their own existence; the whole of their race accepted and lived by the strict rules that governed their society, rules rigidly upheld by the Seniors, all in the aims of ensuring the survival and prosperity of all.

But that day was different.

That day, the Watchers regressed into the worst of the human characteristics they sought to supersede. They were all overcome by a sense of fear and egotistic self-preservation that drove them to claw their way out of the Wormhole before it was sealed for good, behavior that went against all the principles they have ever held.

In their panic, some had tried crossing over to other realities and met their demise when there was nothing out there for them to cross to. Soon, others joined in this initiative willingly, choosing a relatively painless death over a fate that could be far worse.

October found himself choked up at the sight of the collapse of his society, and he suddenly He brought his fingers to his face as, for the first time in his long existence, streams of liquid ran down his cheeks.

He noted the group of Watchers currently heading toward the human's cell, and decided to follow them in the hope of getting a chance to reach and murder the human who dared do this to his kind, to make them break rules they held sacred, to commit suicide en masse, to cause them to sink to depravity hitherto unknown.

The human that destroyed his entire race.

**The Watcher Homeworld. Peter's cell. **

The sound of his screams echoed in the cell, barely audible over the shouting and banging on the door. He shut his eyes and tried to control his breathing as jolts of pain crossed through him.

"What's… happening?" croaked Peter through clenched teeth.

September looked down at him. "The others; they have come to kill you."

"Is that right?" sneered Peter, finding it hard to laugh any louder. "Well, aren't you going to let them in?"

"Silence," ordered September.

"You got it, boss," chuckled Peter, deriving sadistic pleasure from September's agitated state.

"Why did you choose to destroy, even after I had promised you a place in our new world?" asked September.

"You mean why did I stop you from wiping billions of innocent lives in both universes?" replied Peter. "You wouldn't understand; it's a human thing."

September focused on the screens once more. "Humans are fascinating, but they are also wild. They squander their world and each other. They lack restraint and discipline, and choose destruction and disorder over peace and prosperity. They do not deserve the world they have been given."

A cry of pain lodged itself in Peter's throat as another jolt sent him shivering uncontrollably.

"Maybe you're right," panted Peter once the surge had passed. "Maybe we don't deserve our world. But there's one thing I know for sure: you guys are sure as hell far less deserving of it as we are."

The shouting at the door suddenly ceased, and September strolled towards it as someone called his name outside.

**Harvard University. Kresge Building. Boston.**

"Walter, what do we do now?" panted Olivia, lips quivering as she failed to fight back the tears. "How do we find out where Peter is?"

"I don't know!" gasped Walter, still equally shocked.

The Secretary resigned himself into deep silence, remorse never leaving his features.

"If this paper _was_ sent by Peter," said Astrid, "then we have to do what it says. We don't have any other option."

Olivia nodded.

"Very well," said the Secretary at length. "Let's begin our work."

He hurried toward the back office, Walter close behind.

"So how much time should it take to seal that wormhole?" asked Olivia.

"A day and a half," said both Walters at once.

"At the most," added Walter.

Olivia jerked at the sudden sound of the lab door being busted open. Her eyes widened as John Mosley's figure appeared.

"Uh, hey there," the man smirked innocently.

Olivia responded by reaching for her gun.

"Please! Listen to me. I'm not here to hurt you." He raised his hands in a non-threatening way. "I have some important information for you."

"I think we should give him a chance," suggested Astrid uneasily. "The last time he came here, he warned me about some guy that was trying to kill you, and he was right."

Mosley and Astrid exchanged a long stare, faintly smirking.

"Who are you?" asked Walternate.

"My name is David Mosley," he said. "I'm Jonathan Mosley's twin brother."

Olivia nodded. _Of course, now it all makes sense._

"You used to know someone," began David. "He was a very good man, someone close to you, but you've all forgotten who he is."

"Peter?"

Mosley was taken aback at Walter's interruption.

"Yes, Yes! Peter Bishop! I came to tell you that he's succeeded in destroying humanity's greatest threat. But he's stuck somewhere now, and that place is going to be destroyed very soon, along with everything inside."

Walter was immediately distraught with the news.

"Oh, God!" he wailed. "Peter!"

"Wait!" said Mosley. "Hear me out. Now, I've been thinking for some time, and as dire as the situation seems, I think there _might_ be a way to get him back. After all he's done for us, I think its worth to at least give it a shot."

The others remained silent, processing Mosley's words.

"Okay," said Olivia at length. "Tell us what to do."

**The Watcher Homeworld. Peter's cell. **

Peter peeled his eyelids apart, trying to focus on the Observer holding a tray that stood next to September,

"I have brought him food," stated newcomer as he approached the table on which Peter laid, securely restrained.

"_Now_ he cares!" quipped Peter, picking up on the Observer's intention to kill him.

September jerked his head up, probably reading Peter's deductions about the coming observer.

"October, do not!" shouted September.

He was just fast enough to grab October's hand and twist it away as it picked a small knife from the tray, targeting Peter's defenseless chest. With struggle, September was able to alter the knife's trajectory and Peter's body froze as the blade dug itself in his shoulder. A scream erupted from deep inside him, and he thrashed against the bindings that held him down, stars dancing before him and gray spots percolating his vision.

Blood streamed down in tiny rivulets from the gash and he tried to breathe evenly through clenched teeth. September disappeared after moments of observing Peter's gasping and groaning. After some thought, he had instructed October to leave the human to bleed out, for a slow, painful death would a far more fitting punishment than a swift, merciful one.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, cursing his body's desire to fight and inability to simply accept his inevitable death.

**Blueverse. The Watcher Wormhole. Boston.**

"Nina has confirmed Mosley's story," announced Broyles. "A few years ago, Massive Dynamic had indeed captured a Beacon. They've been conserving it in a specialized container to prevent it from departing. They've agreed to assist us; the container should be arriving here in a matter of minutes."

"See, I told you so," said Mosley, grinning proudly. "Tell them to hurry up, we don't have much time."

Olivia sighed in relief. She hoped that Mosley's plan was one of those so crazy, it had to work deals.

Mosley's lengthy narrative of what happened to him and Peter left her sobbing uncontrollably. He told her about his experiences as a prisoner in the Watcher Homeworld, about Mr. X, and Peter's repeated fights to protect both her and Walter. He told her about bout his wiliness to sacrifice himself, dying unremembered after he had succeeded to save both worlds.

"Do you know how this works?" asked Walternate.

"Sure," explained Mosley. "One Beacon, or cylinder, or whatever term you wish to use, is associated with one Watcher. A Watcher is entangled with their cylinder at the quantum level. It's what makes them what they are, and where they derive their immense power and abilities."

Walternate then gestured to the weird machinery Mosley had brought along, aided by some FBI agents.

"And what about this equipment here?" queried Walternate, clearly finding it difficult to trust Mosley.

Olivia couldn't blame him; Brandonate's deed must have taught him a harsh lesson in trusting others.

"It's something my people designed in our conflicts with the Watchers," informed Mosley. "I brought it from my native world. Many years ago, we discovered a way harnessing the energy the cylinders produced. This machine is able to use the cylinders against them. That's why the Watchers are always trying to protect the cylinders; so that we can't use them to fight them back."

"And I… I helped them protect one, once," whispered Walter, staring blankly at the direction of the Wormhole. "Oh, Peter," he added softly.

"They're here!" shouted Astrid as a huge Massive Dynamic truck made its way toward them.

"Let the show begin," said Mosley. "Don't you dare die on us before we reach you, Peter Bishop."

_Please, Peter._

**The Watcher Homeworld. Peter's cell. An hour and a half later.**

Peter's breathing slowed as the minutes passed; nausea crept on him like a choking blanket. But as uncomfortable his current state was, unconsciousness wouldn't claim him, no matter how hard he craved for it. He snapped his eyes open as the door cracked open, and the room swam alarmingly before them.

"You should be pleased, Peter," announced September as he strolled toward Peter. "I have decided to grant you a quick death after all."

He wrapped both hands around his throat, squeezing forcefully. Peter struggled against his restraints; he could feel blood trickling from his swollen wrists as his body curled and thrashed, clinging at life with all his might.

And as his vision began to fade, flashes of his life with Olivia, Walter, and Astrid washed over him, and he smiled.

TBC...

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><p>I know, I know! Evil cliffy! What can I say, September is very pissed!<p>

But at least Mosely's back, right?

Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

Next chapter is the last one, hang in there!


	19. Restful Sleep

Hey, my dear readers and reviewers! Here is te Last chapter. I really hope you like it!

Let's see what's gonna happen to Peter!

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><p><strong>CHAPITRE XIX<strong>

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><p><em>"All of life is a journey which paths we take, what we look back on, and what we look forward to is up to us. We determine our destination, what kind of road we will take to get there, and how happy we are when we get there." - Unknown author.<br>_

**The Watcher Homeworld. Peter's cell.**

The smile on the human's face left September perplexed. He had studied their behavior over the course of many of their lifetimes, and had acquired comprehensive knowledge about their species, but this one in particular was causing him to reconsider his prior assessments.

He could feel the human's body weakening beneath his hands, limbs sagging until they became numb, and pupils slowly disappearing up under his eyelids; he knew then that he was dying.

A strange sensation then overwhelmed him, and his hands jerked away by their own volition. He felt vulnerable and exposed.

The realization struck him hard.

Someone had acquired his Beacon.

…_No…_

He was fully conscious of his own acts, but they were all involuntary, dictated by something other than his own mind. His hands reached down, undoing the restraints from the human's bloodied wrists and ankles. His body leaned forward to grab the human and drag him toward the exit. He was completely motionless save for a weak pulse, and both precipitated toward an unknown destination.

**Blueverse. The Watcher Wormhole. Boston.**

"What is he doing?" asked Broyles, staring at a singularly focused Mosley.

Mosley was resting both hands on the bottom of the beacon, which had been inserted into a matching hole in a machine evoking the design of a vacuum cleaner. His eyes were closed, and beads of sweat were forming on his face.

"Please, Agent Broyles, don't disturb him!" hushed Walter. "He's trying to save Peter. At least, I think that's what he's doing."

**The Watcher Homeworld. Colossal Threshold Control Room. Forty five minutes later.**

September stared in at the human form lying on the ground, unable to wrestle from the grip of whoever was controlling his Beacon.

His puppet master had made him send a global announcement to the population thirty minutes ago, ordering them to take shelter in their hosting cities and to be patient, promising that he would figure a way out of their predicament. He was then then obliged to send a private message to the seniors, asking them to gather in the council chamber until he joined them for an urgent meeting.

Although he never allowed himself to feel, September hoped for nothing more than for the human to die at that very instant.

The Beacon's current master had made him wait until all the Watchers had left to their indicated rendezvous points before making him move again. He lifted the unconscious human's limp body and dragged him to the Colossal Threshold's control interface.

He tried to memorize the password that his fingers entered as the Threshold began to open, taking all of his mental capacities

Once they reached the exit to the control room and emerged on the other end of the Wormhole, he positioned the human at a safe distance from its rippling mouth. September's tears burned down his heated cheeks, anger spiking unboundedly inside him at his own helplessness.

His body began to move once more. He returned to his Homeworld, emerging through the Threshold's gateway, and as he made for the control room, he caught a glimpse of the Wormhole and what lay through it. Bitter tears flowed as his eyes fell on the blue sky for the last time; not the holographic displays that adorned the hosting cities, but the beautiful, authentic skies that belonged to the world he was going to call his own.

When his body reached the controls and the Colossal Threshold resumed shutting down again, his fingers started working on the keyboards; but the sequence was different than it was before.

The Beacon's master was modifying the password before his eyes. His eyes then shut without consent, and in a fleeting second, his fingers typed series of characters he couldn't follow.

Once the failsafe key was locked in, the effects of the Beacon wore off, leaving him to gawk at the controls. The artificial construct that had served as their temporary home was unraveling; he could feel the space around him fading away. He stumbled to the Threshold's gate, and dropped to his knees, arms outstretched, accepting his fate.

They have been defeated by humans; the thought made his lips widen in a bitter grin. And just as all conscious thought ceases at the very moment one falls asleep, so too did the Watcher Homeworld cease to exist entirely, with September's final moments bent on condemning the entire human race for the undoing of his own.

**Redverse. Boston General Hospital. Minutes later.**

They hurriedly followed the doctors and nurses as they pushed Peter's gurney to the operating room.

"Please, my son!" wept Walter. "Peter!"

Peter's pulse was very weak when they found him; he was having troubles breathing, and blood was spluttered everywhere.

"The Observers are so cruel," whispered Astrid.

It was Walternate who had suggested they bring Peter to the other universe since their medical technology was more advanced. They raced to transport Peter through the Bridge Room and into the other world.

Once the gurney disappeared behind the doors of the ER, Mosley slid down against the wall. His clothing was stained with Peter's blood, and his hands shook uncontrollably.

"I rescued him," muttered Mosley, "and the son of a bitch is gonna die on me."

"He's a fighter," whispered Olivia, not caring that her voice broke into a hurtful weep. "That's what Peter does. He fights."

**Red verse. Boston's general hospital. Days later.**

The intermittent beeping was the first thing to enter Peter's mind; the sound elicited pain in his system.

_Where am I?_

_Aren't I supposed to be dead? _

His lead-heavy eyelids resisted his attempts to part them. When he succeeded, he immediately shut them again as bright lights blinded him. He blinked profusely, his eyes slowly adjusting to his surroundings.

"Peter?" called voice. "Son, can you hear me?"

It felt like someone was communicating with him underwater; but the muffled voice was so familiar.

Walter.

He snapped his eyes open, groaning from sudden pain. He tried to blink away oncoming dizziness, and Walter's figure sharpened through his squinting.

"Walter," croaked Peter, offering a taxing smile.

"How are you feeling?" asked Walter. Peter got a better look at his face, and he could see bags under his father's eyes; he appeared completely drained.

"I'm fine," replied Peter. "How about you?"

"I'm good as long as you are," Walter grinned, looking unbelievably happy. He clasped Peter's hands in his own. "My son."

**Moments later.**

Olivia was transfixed by the steady rise and fall of Peter's chest.

He looked ashen, emaciated and severely exhausted; the sight was ache-inducing. Olivia took a few steps toward Peter's bed, gripped his hand as she sat, and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

He faintly grimaced, slowly opening his eyes. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself. You gave us quite a scare, there." Her lips shivered as she forced a smile, fighting back tears.

"Well, sounds like it's not that easy to get rid of me," joked Peter quietly.

He smiled back, making it impossible for her to fight back her need for a long cry.

"Olivia," said Peter, groaning as he vainly tried to lift his head off the pillow. "Don't tell me you're crying."

"No. It's just…" Her voice broke and she found herself leaning over Peter, holding him tightly in her embrace.

"I'm sorry," wept Olivia, breathing heavily.

"Hey." Peter broke away and gently stroked her glistening cheeks. "Listen to me. Nobody's at fault here, alright? We're here now; it's time we move forward."

A fleeting smile passed over her lips. They stared at each other, their eyes watering slightly, and they voiced in unison the thought that had dominated their lives over the past several weeks.

"…I missed you."

**Minutes later.**

The Secretary entered the room with some hesitation, and took a seat at Peter's bedside. He clasped Peter's weak hand in his own.

"Peter," whispered Walter.

Peter's eyes were alight as he slowly opened them, innocently smiling at his father. The sight reminded the Secretary of those days before Peter was stolen, when he was sick and seldom ever had the chance to get out of bed.

The Secretary took a deep breath. "I remember, now. I remember what I did, what I made you go through. I'm sorry, Peter. It was callous and vain of me to have put our worlds in jeopardy for something so frivolous."

Peter nodded, clearly finding it a laborious movement. "It's okay, Walter. But that was the past. It doesn't matter now."

Walter closed his eyes, as though feeling absolved from his past sins. He arose from his seat, standing erect before his son.

"I know you don't consider me as your father," he said. "But for what it's worth, I still love you as one."

He began to walk away, but Peter stopped him.

"I know, Walter," said Peter. "And even though my home is on the other side, you'll always have a place in my life."

Walter stopped at the door, clinging to the frame with his hand.

"…Thank you, son," he said, exhibiting a rare smile.

He turned back to face the exit, chin quivering.

…_Thank you…_

**Two days later.**

"So, how's my favorite son of a bitch?" asked Mosley, taking a seat next to Peter's bed.

Peter smirked. "Great to see you too, David."

"Listen, man. I'm sorry I got here a bit later than I probably should have."

"Well, if you weren't so busy stalking junior agents, then maybe you would have had the time to come visit me sooner," quipped Peter.

Mosley raised an eyebrow. "What? Me? Are you out of your mind? It had nothing to do with that. I was just –"

"She's like a little sister to me," said Peter, ignoring Mosley's attempt at misdirection. "So take care of her, alright?"

"Who?"

It was Peter's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, right!" said Mosley, feeling kind of dumb. "You have nothing to worry about! I'll treat her like a queen."

"Of _course_ you will," said Peter.

"Very funny, Peter Bishop. I should have expected no less from the King of Sarcasm."

"No, no, I mean it! You'll do great, I know it."

"You're lying, man; you don't think I have what it takes."

"Alright, fine. Don't believe me."

"I don't. I'll prove you wrong, just you watch me."

True to his endlessly talkative self, Mosley began the lengthy tale of how he and the others had rescued Peter, and how he had played a big part in it. He told him about the day he took control of September's body, and of the time where the Walters sealed the Wormhole for good. He told him how they found him, and how he was by his side the whole time they transported him to the Bridge Room. He rambled on and on; Peter suspected that he was glorifying his role in the whole ordeal to some degree, but he didn't mind.

And they spoke long into the night until Peter reached the point of exhaustion and fell into the first period of restful sleep in a long, long time.

-THE END-

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><p>Yeah, Life is struggle and there is nothing like moving forward...<p>

There, it's done. I honestly hope you enjoyed my story! I had great fun writing it!

**Amy,** Thanks a lot for your supporting comments, you have no idea how they encouraged me! There were times when I stop writing for a while, but quickly hurry up to write more once I see one of your reviews. Thanks a lot!

**Uroboros75,** Great Beta reader ever! And, don't say I'm overreacting, because truly, you are! Thanks for the help and support, thanks for revising my story and thanks a lot for doing much more than what's essencially asked from you, which is really nice of you! you gave me support and help, I greatly appreciate that!

I hope this had been a fun ride for all my readers!

Humanity. Hope. Life. Love. Family bonds. Those were the fundamental themes my story treated and/or focused on.

I'd really like to hear what you thought about the ending and the story in general.


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